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ex:  T  R,  -A.  C  T 

.4'-^  Itrennribinj   /{itlen  fur  the   Guventnu  iil  of   llie   State    Librdry , 
piiHued  March  8th,  1861. 


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Section  1 1 .  The  Lil)r.iriaii  .-hall  cause  to  be  kept  a  register  of  all  b( 
ueil  an<l  returndi :  ami  all  bookti  taken  by  the  members  of  the  Legislature, 
its  officers,  shall  be  returned  at  the  close  of  the  sessiou.  If  any  person 
uru  or  fail  to  return  any  book  taken 'from  the  Library,  he  shall  forf''it  and 
y  to  the  Librarian,  for  the  benefit  of  the  Library,  three  times  the  value 
jreof;  and  before  the  Controller  shall  issue  his  warrant  in  favor  <,t'  any 
imber  or  officer  of  the  Legislature,  or  of  this  State,  for  his  per  diem,  allow- 
ce,  or  salarVt  he  shall  be  satisfied  that  such  member  or  officer  has  returned 

i 

books  taken  out  of  the  Library  by  him,  and  has  settled  all  accounts  for 
uring  such  books  or  otherwise. 

3ec.  15.  Books  may  be  taken  from  the  Library  by  the  members  of  the 
gislature  and  its  officers  during  the  suss'.on  of  the  same,  and  at  any  time 

the  Governor  and  the  officers  of  the  E.xec^tive  Department  of  this  State 
o  are  required  to  keep  their  offices  at  the  seat;  of  government,  the  Justices 
the  Supreme  Court,  the  Attorney-Genera!,  and  t^he  Trustees  of  the  Library. 


Ill  a   r.-w  iiKiriii-iits   I    h.nl  liaiidea  liim  one  of  the  dirty  bits  of  Kussiiiu 
paper  iiifiin-\  ."  —  ."^ee  p.'igo  127. 


THE  AINSLEE   STORIES. 


HELEN   C.   WEEKS. 


AUTHOR    OF    "  grandpa's    HOUSE." 


miittf  eitfyt  mu^tVKtian^ 


W.   L.    CHAMPKEY  AND   S.   L.   SMITH. 


NEW   YORK: 
PUBLISHED  BY  HURD  AND  HOUGHTON. 

1868. 


EncereJ  aceording  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1868,  by 

nCBD  AND  IIOCOHTON, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Southern  District  of 
New  York. 


RIVERSIDE,  CAMBRIDGE: 
STEBEOTTPED    AND    PRINTED    BT 

a   0   nocGHTOX  asd  compast. 


THIS,  MY  FIRST  WOEK  FOR  CHILDREN, 
TO  MY  HUSBAND. 


SRLF 


oc/^15h%\ 


c\\ 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 
I.      AiNSLEE 1 

II.    Uncle  Ainslee's  Squirrel  Stohy    ...        19 

III.  CULLIGAN 33 

IV.  Chicken  Little 44 

V.    The  Bumf.le-bee  Story 54 

VI.  Haying  Time 66 

VII.  Betty's  Wish-bone 82 

VIII.  August  Days 102 

IX.  Michael  Michaelovitch        ....  116 

X.  Two  Pumpkin  Pies      ....        o        .  132 

XI.  Winter  Time  ....,.-.  150 

XII.  Ainslee's  Valentine 169 

XIII.  Snow-drifts 189 

XIV.  Amanda's  Party 211 

XV.  Barrels  and  Beans 235 

XVI.  Land  and  Sea  Flowers 258 

XVII.  Settling  Accounts 281 

XVIII.  One  Day 307 

XIX.  Pop 334 

XX.  Three  Little  Pigs 362 

XXI.  The  End 390 


THE   AINSLEE   STORIES. 


I. 

AINSLEE. 

AiNSLEE  was  in  ti'ouble.  What  it  was  Grand- 
ma Walton  couldn't  exactly  tell,  but  he  was 
walking  very  slowly  up  from  the  barn,  Sinny 
following  close  behind,  while  something  dangled 
from  his  hand. 

"  Land  ahve  !  "  said  grandma,  "  but  that's 
one  of  old  Speckle's  chickens  !  What  you  been 
doing,  Ainslee  ?  " 

"  Playing  with  Speckle,  grandma." 

"  What  you  done  to  the  chicken  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  grandma  ;  only  hugged  it  Jcause  I 
loved  it,  and  then  it  stopped  kicking,  and  I  can't 
make  it  do  it  any  more." 

"  I  should  think  not,"  said  grandma.  "  It's 
dead  as  a  door-nail.  You  go  up  and  tell  your 
mother." 

Ainslee  tugged  up  the  stairs ;  he  was  not 
quite  five  years  old,  and  very  fat  indeed,  so  that 


2  Tine  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

between  crying  and  climbing,  and  the  hot  day, 
he  was  a  very  red-faced,  forlorn  little  boy  when 
he  got  to  mother's  room. 

"  I  didn't  go  to  do  it,  mamma  ;  it  did  itself," 
he  sobbed,  when  he  had  laid  the  little  yellow 
])uff-ball  in  his  mother's  lap.  "  Its  eyes  shined, 
anil  it  was  so  soft  I  couldn't  help  squeezing  it  all 
up,  an'  then  it  didn't  breathe." 

"  Poor  little  chickey !  "  said  his  mother.  "  Their 
little  bodies  are  very  soft  and  tender,  and  can't 
bear  rough  handling,  and  you'll  know  another 
time  that  you  must  be  more  gentle  with  them. 
Now  dry  your  eyes,  and  your  little  hot  face 
shall  be  washed  in  nice  cool  water,  and  then  you 
will  feel  better." 

"  ^lamma,"  said  Ainslee,  when  quite  himself 
again,  "  is  Uncle  Ainslee  coming  for  sure  to- 
day?" 

"  Yes,  dear,  and  soon  I  shall  want  you  to  be 
dressed  nicely,  so  that  you  will  be  ready  to  see 
him.  Go  play  with  Sinny  now,  and  nurse  shall 
call  you  when  it  is  time  to  come  in." 

Ainslee  trotted  off,  and  from  her  Mindow  his 
mother  saw  him  chasing  down  the  garden-path 
after  Sinny,  whose  little  woolly  head  was  bobbing 
up  behind  the  asparagus-bed. 

Ainslee  had  only  been  at  Grandpa  Walton's 
three  davs.    The  house  was  at  some  distance  from 


AINSLEE.  3 

any  village,  and  there  were  no  neighbors  near, 
except  an  old  colored  man,  who  owned  a  small 
farm,  and  whose  daughter  and  little  grandson 
lived  with  him.  Simeon  Smith,  called  Sinny  for 
short,  was  a  solemn  little  darky  to  look  at,  black 
as  ink,  with  queer  little  braided  tails  all  over  his 
head,  which  was  such  an  one  for  contriving  mis- 
chief as  one  does  not  often  see.  Ainslee  had  be- 
come very  intimate  with  him  at  once.  His  play- 
mates, so  far,  had  always  been  white  children, 
and  it  seemed  ever  so  much  nicer  to  him  now  to 
race  about  with  Sinny,  than  if  he  had  been  the 
best  boy  on  the  avenue  at  home. 

Grandma  shook  her  head  a  little,  but  mother 
and  father  both  said  it  was  all  right  so  long  as 
Sinny  showed  himself  a  good  boy  and  did  no 
naughty  mischief,  and  so  there  was  a  fair  pros- 
pect of  their  becoming  fast  friends  before  the 
summer  ended. 

"•  Well,"  said  gi'andma,  "  Sinny's  spry  as  a 
cricket,  and  if  he  don't  run  some  of  Ainslee's 
flesh  off  his  bones,  then  I  don't  know." 

"  Was  it  dead  ?  "  asked  Sinny. 

"  '  Dead  as  a  door-nail,'  grandma  said,"  an- 
swered Ainslee. 

"  Then  let's  bury  it,"  said  Sinny.  "  I'll  get 
a  nice  chip  for  a  coffin." 


4  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

Aiiisloe  van  to  tlie  house  again  for  tlic  cliicken. 
Old  Speckle  clucked  loudly  when  lie  ])assed  the 
coop,  as  though  she  would  ask  what  he  had  done 
with  her  yoiuigest,  and  Ainslee  felt  sorry  again, 
to.  think  that  it  could  never  run  about  any  more. 

"  It  mio-ht  a-o-rowed  into  a  big  rooster,  an' 
crowed  loud  every  morning,"  said  he. 

"  Then  'twould  a-picked  the  other  roosters' 
eyes  out,"  said  Sinny,  "an'  they'd  all  a-got  lost 
cause  they  couldn't  find  their  way ;  so  it's  good 
he  got  squeezed  to  death." 

"  So  it  is,"  said  Ainslee.  "  I  didn't  think  of 
that  ;  but  then  I  wouldn't  want  to  squeeze  an- 
other." 

By  this  time  Sinny  had  found  a  white  chip  in 
the  wood-house,  and  he  and  Ainslee  dug  a  hole 
under  a  hop-vine,  into  Avhich  they  laid  the  little 
biddy,  and  then  covered  it  up  smoothly.  Ainslee 
looked  at  his  hands,  quite  plastered  with  dirt 
from  the  digging. 

"Dirt  don't  show  on  your  hands, — does  it, 
Sinny?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,"  said  Sinny ;  "  so  I  don't  have  to  keep 
a-washin'  'em  all  the  time." 

"Did  you  ever  have  a  bath,  Sinny?"  asked 
Ainslee. 

"  What's  a  bath  ?  "  asked  Sinny. 

"  I  mean,  do  you  ever  get  put  in  a  tub  o' 
water,  and  lyj  soaped  all  over?  " 


AINSLEE.  5 

"No,"  said  Sinny.  "Mother  washes  me  in  a 
bowl,  with  a  rag,  mostly." 

"  Don't  you  believe  some  of  the  black  would 
rub  off  if  you  was  in  a  tub?"  asked  Ainslee. 

"  It  might,  maybe,"  said  Sinny.  "  I'd  like 
to  get  into  one,  any  >vay." 

Ainslee  looked  grave,  as  if  he  were  studying 
out  something. 

"  The  water's  all  ready  for  me,"  said  he,  "  and 
nurse  is  putting  baby  to  sleep,  so  there'll  be  time 
enougli  to  try  it.     You  come  right  along,  Sinny." 

Sinny  ran  after,  quite  charmed  with  the 
thought  of  it,  and  the  two  boys  went  quickly  up 
the  back-stairs  to  the  nursery. 

The  nice  tin  bathing-tub  stood  on  a  piece  of 
oil-cloth  near  the  wash-stand,  and  nurse  had  laid 
out  towels  and  soap,  and  Ainslee's  clean  white 
suit  all  ready  for  him. 

"  Pull  off"  your  clothes  quick,  Sinny,"  said 
Ainslee.  "  It's  nice  you're  barefoot.  Now  step 
in  soft,  so  't  nurse  won't  hear,  and  I'll  soap  you 
good." 

Sinny's  little  spider-like  figure  was  quite  lost 
in  the  big  tub,  and  Ainslee  found  it  necessary,  if 
he  wovild  reach  him  easily,  to  get  in  himself.  So 
he  undressed  as  fast  as  possible  for  fear  some  one 
would  come.  One  shoe-string,  in  a  hard  knot, 
would  not  be  untied. 


6  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

"  I'll  not  iniiul  one  slioe,"  said  lie,  "  'cause  I 
can  take  it  off  after  I've  done  Sinny,''  and  in 
he  got. 

"  Stand  up  good  now,  Sinny,"  he  said,  and  he 
lathered  him  from  head  to  foot. 

"  You're  white  now  in  spots  —  ain't  you  ?  " 
said  Ainslee,  as  he  rubbed  on  the  cake  of  soap. 

"  Oh-h-h  ! ''  howled  Sinny.  "  There's  soap 
in  my  eye  !     Ow  !     Yow  I  " 

The  nursery  door  opened,  and  mamma  looked 
in.  Ainslee,  Avith  his  back  toward  her,  did  not 
see  her,  but  he  looked  up  as  Sinny  suddenly  be- 
came silent. 

"  Why,  what's  the  matter  ?  "  said  he.  "  What 
made  you  stop  hollerin'  ?  " 

"  Yes,  what  is  the  matter  ?  "  said  his  mother's 
voice.     "  What  are  you  doing  now,  Ainslee  ?  " 

Ainslee  sat  right  down  in  the  tub,  he  was  so 
overcome,  and  Sinny  began  to  cry  again. 

"  I'm  only  trying  to  get  Sinny  white,  mamma, 
an'  I  haven't  but  just  begun." 

"  You've  done  quite  enough  for  this  time," 
said  his  mother,  and  then,  to  Ainslee's  astonish- 
ment, she  began  and  laughed  and  laughed. 

'  o  o  o 

Sinny,  feeling  a  sense  of  injury,  roared  louder 
than  before,  and  nurse  appeared  in  the  door-way 
with  the  wide-awake  baby. 

"  Mercy  on  us  !  "  said  she,  "  but  what's  that  in 
the  tub  ? ''' 


AINSLEE.  7 

"  Only  one  of  Ainslee's  experiments,  nurse," 
answered  his  mother. 

"  Since  you  have  begun  the  work,  you  may  get 
out  now  and  wipe  Sinny  dry,  and  then  he  can 
put  on  his  clothes  and  go  home  for  to-day." 

Ainslee  put  out  one  fat  leg. 

"  Save  us  !  "  cried  the  nurse  ;  "  but  he's  got 
his  shoes  on  !  " 

"  No  I  haven't,"  said  Ainslee,  glad  to  be  quite 
settled  on  one  point.     "  I've  only  got  one  on." 

Sinny  hurried  into  his  jacket  and  trousers  with- 
out waiting  for  much  wiping,  and  scudded  down 
the  stairs. 

"  Now,  Ainslee,"  said  his  mother,  "  what  does 
this  mean  ?  Don't  you  see  how  much  trouble 
you  have  made  ?  Poor  nurse  must  go  and  get 
clean  water  for  you,  and  your  shoe  is  soaked  so 
that  it  will  take  it  a  long  time  to  dry.  What 
made  you  bring  Sinny  here  to  wash  him  ?  " 

"  'Cause  I  wanted  to  get  him  white,  mamma. 
He's  awful  black,  an'  he  was  dirty  besides." 

"  But  Sinny  has  a  mother  who  can  wash  him, 
Ainslee,  and  then  God  made  him  so  black,  and 
no  one  could  rub  him  white." 

"  Couldn't  they  ever  ?  "  said  Ainslee.  "  I 
don't  believe  his  mother  w^ashes  him  good,  'cause 
he  said  he'd  never  had  a  bath,  only  been  washed 
with  a  rao;." 


8  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

"  He  looks  pretty  clean  and  neat,"  said  his 
mother  ;  "  if  he  had  nobody  to  do  anything  for 
him,  I  should  have  been  willing  to .  have  him 
washed  here,  but  not  by  you,  for  you  see  you 
have  made  a  good  deal  of  trouble  by  it.  You 
have  splashed  grandma's  pretty  carpet,  and  used 
up  almost  a  whole  cake  of  soap.  It  is  not  the 
kind  of  work  little  boys  are  to  do,  and  the  next 
time  you  want  to  do  such  things,  come  and  ask 
mamma  first  whether  it  is  best." 

Ainslee  promised,  and  in  the  mean  time  nurse 
brought  fresh  water,  pulled  off  the  soaked  shoe, 
and  put  him  again  in  his  tub  for  a  rinse. 

"  This  is  your  only  clean  suit  of  white  clothes," 
said  his  mother,  as  he  ran  into  her  room,  "  and 
as  there  will  be  a  good  many  people  here  to  din- 
ner, I  want  you  to  keep  it  very  nice  and  neat. 
Play  in  the  house,  and  don't  go  out  again." 

"  Can't  I  just  run  up  to  Sinny's  ?  "  said  Ainslee. 

"  No,  dear.  Stay  down-stairs  with  grandma. 
This  evening  before  you  go  to  bed,  Uncle  Ainslee 
will  tell  you  a  story,  I  think ;  so  rest  now,  that 
you  may  keep  awake  then." 

"  Are  they  nice  stories  ?  "  said  Ainslee. 

"  Very,"  answered  his  mother.  "  When  we 
were  children  together,  he  used  to  tell  me  splen- 
did ones,  and  I  don't  believe  he  has  forgotten 
how,  if  he  is  grown  up." 


AINSLEE.  9 

By  this  time  Ainslee  was  all  dressed,  looking 
very  fresh  and  clean,  and  started  down-stairs  in 
high  spirits.  Grandpa  had  gone  to  the  station,  to 
bring  back  the  visitors,  and  grandma  sat  all  ready 
for  them  in  her  rocking-chair.  Ainslee  ran  up, 
intending  to  ask  for  a  story,  but  grandma's  head 
lay  against  the  back,  and  her  handkerchief  was 
thrown  over  her  face. 

"Oh  dear,  she's  asleep  !  "  said  he,  and  then 
stood  and  watched  the  handkerchief  moving 
lightly  up  and  down  as  grandma  breathed.  A 
big  fly  was  anxious  to  get  under  it,  and  he  lit, 
first  on  one  spot  and  then  another  ;  and  then 
he  drove  off  another  fly  that  had  lit  on  it,  by 
walkino;  rioht  over  him. 

"  What  a  fly  !  "  said  Ainslee.  "  I'm  going  to 
catch  him." 

This  was  easier  said  than  done,  but  at  last 
Ainslee  penned  him  in  a  corner  of  the  window, 
and  put  his  fat  hand  over  him.  Then  he  walked 
softly  to  the  hall-door  to  let  him  fly  off"  in  the 
open  air.  Up  the  road  he  saw  Sinny  holding  a 
stick  in  his  hand  and  very  busy  about  something. 

"  Oh  dear  !  "  said  Ainslee,  "  I  want  to  go  there. 
What  made  mother  say  I  mustn't  go  out  again  ?  " 
He  walked  back  to  the  parlor.  Grandma  was 
still  sleeping.  He  heard  nurse  singing  to  baby 
ov^erhead,  and  his  mother  he  knew  was  dressing. 


10  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

He  looked  at  ;v  ])icture-book  for  a  few  moments, 
then  played  with  his  parlor-ball,  but  through  the 
front  windows  Sinnj  was  still  in  sight. 

"  I'll  just  go  up  a  little  minute,"  said  Ainslee, 
"  and  see  what  he's  doing." 

Down  the  ])ath  and  out  of  the  front  gate  he  ran. 
It  had  rained  the  day  before,  and  some  little  pools 
of  water  lay  along  the  road  side. 

"  What  you  doing,  Sinny  ?  "  called  Ainslee. 

"  Fishin',"  said  Sinny. 

"  What  for  ?  " 

"  Tadpoles." 

"  What's  they  ?  "  said  Ainslee.  • 

"  Why,  they're  tadpoles ;  pollywogs,  mother 
calls  'em." 

"  Have  you  got  any?  "  asked  Ainslee. 

"  No,"  said  Sinny,  "  not  yet.  I  guess  I  won't 
try  any  more  now  you've  come.  Did  you  know 
we'd  got  a  new  pig  ?  " 

"Why,  no,"  said  Ainslee,  "I  didn't  know 
you'd  got  any  pigs." 

"  Ho  !  "  said  Sinny.  "  Why,  we've  got  'leven, 
—  only  seven  of  'em  has  just  come.  They're 
all  white  'cept  the  black  one,  and  gran'ther 
says  I  may  have  it,  'cause  it's  a  runt.  Our  old 
cat's  got  kittens,  too.  There's  three  of  'em  up 
in  the  barn,  and  they  can't  one  o'  them  open 
their  eyes." 


AINSLEE.  H 

"  Why,"  said  Ainslee. 

"  'Cause  'tain't  time,"  said  Sinny.  "  'T won't 
be  for  two  days.     Come  and  see  'em." 

Three  kittens  who  couldn't  or  wouldn't  open 
their  eyes  were  too  great  a  temptation  for  Ainslee, 
and  he  trotted  along  by  Sinny,  till  they  reached 
the  barn.  There  the  cunnino-  little  things  so 
moved  him,  that  they  neai'ly  met  the  fate  of  the 
chicky,  for  he  squeezed  them  till  they  gave  sharp 
little  mews,  and  the  old  cat  grew  quite  anxious 
and  carried  them  off  one  by  one  down  into  the 
hay  under  the  rafters. 

"  Let's  come  and  see  the  pigs  now,"  said  Sinny  ; 
and  so  they  went  down  the  ladder  and  out  into 
the  barn-yard.  Old  Peter  Smith  was  at  one  end, 
and  he  looked  quite  surprised  as  he  saw  Sinny's 
companion. 

"  What  little  boy  are  you  ?  "  said  he. 

"  I'm  Ainslee  Barton,"  said  Ainslee,  "  and  I 
live  down  to  grandpa's." 

"  Oh  you  do  —  do  you  ?  "  said  old  Peter. 
"  You  an'  Sinny  look  out,  an'  not  get  into  mis- 
chief" 

"  I  never  do  such  a  thing,"  said  Ainslee,  walk- 
ing off  after  Sinny. 

The  barn-yard  was  dirty  and  his  nice  boots 
suffered,  but  he  was  too  intent  on  seeing  the  seven 
little  pigs  to  think  of  that.     The  pig-pen  lay  at 


12  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

the  farther  end  of  the  yard,  and  a  loose  board  in 
the  side  enabled  them  to  climb  up  and  look  over. 
After  all  it  was  nicer  to  hear  about  than  to  see, 
for  the  pigs  were  all  very  dirty,  and  the  smell 
quite   dreadful. 

"  Pigs  are  nasty  —  ain't  they,  Sinny  ?  "  said 
Ainslee. 

"  Mostly,  I  guess,"  said  Sinny  ;  "  ours  are." 

"  Was  there  ever  a  clean  pig  ?  "  said  Ains- 
lee. 

"  I  do'  know,"  said  Sinny.  "  Gran'ther  says 
that  once  tliere  was  a  pig  that  knowed  its  letters 
and  could  spell  pig^ 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  said  Ainslee  ;  "  there 
wasn't  ever  such  a  pig." 

"  There  was,  too,"  said  Sinny. 

"  I'll  ask  mamma  if  there  was" 

"  My  gran'ther  knows  more  than  your  mam- 
ma," said  Sinny. 

"  No  he  don't,"  shouted  Ainslee,  quite  red  in 
the  face  ;  "  he  don't  know  notiiin'." 

This  was  too  much.  Sinny  could  not  stand  it, 
and  gave  Ainslee  a  push  which,  if  he  had  been 
holding  on,  would  have  done  no  harm.  As  it 
was,  in  his  excitement  he  had  let  go  of  the  top 
board,  and  stood  balancing  himself  on  the  loose 
one  ;  and  as  the  push  came  he  wavered  a  moment, 
and  then  fell,  heels  over  head,  into  the  pig-pen. 


AINSLEE.  13 

The  old  pig  had  sat  astonished  through  tlie  con- 
versation going  on  above  her,  and  as  Ainslee  came 
tumbhng  in,  seemed  to  consider  him  something 
good  to  eat,  for  she  stood  up  and  walked  slowly 
toward  him. 

"Gran'ther!  gran'ther  !  "  screamed  Sinny. 
"  He's  in  the  pig-pen.  Oh,  he's  in  the  pig- 
pen !  "  Old  Peter  ran  to  them.  Ainslee,  half 
suffocated,  was  trying  to  get  to  his  feet,  and  the 
pig  was  dangerously  near.  Old  Peter  caught 
him,  and  held  him  out  at  arm's  length. 

"  Wall,  if  I  ever  !  "  said  he.  "  You're  the 
boy  that  don't  never  get  inter  mischief  ;  what  do 
ye  call  this  ?  " 

Sinny's  mother  had  run  out,  as  the  children 
screamed,  and  now  came  up. 

"  Mercy  on  us !  "  said  she,  looking  at  poor 
Ainslee,  streaming  with  filth  and  crying  miser- 
ably.    "  What  ever  will  I  do  with  him  ?  " 

"  Put  him  in  a  tub,  mother,"  said  Sinny  ;  "  he 
did  me." 

Ainslee  was  really  too  dirty  to  touch,  but  old 
Peter  said  he'd  soon  fix  him,  and  taking  him  to 
the  barn-yard  pump,  he  pumped  slowly  over  him 
till  he  was  somewhat  washed  ofi;  Then  Sinny's 
mother  pulled  off  his  clothes  and  threw  them  into 
a  pail,  and  picking  him  up,  carried  him  into  the 
house. 


14  THK   AIXSI.KE  STORIES. 

"■  Vou  couldirt  got  Sinny's  clothes  on  any- 
how," said  she,  "  for  you're  as  fat  as  he's  lean, 
so  ril  just  have  to  take  you  home  in  a  shawl." 

So  down  the  road  presently  a  procession  went. 
Nancy  with  Ainslee  wrapped  in  a  shawl,  and 
looking  too  ashamed  to  hold  up  his  head,  and 
Sinny  following  in  the  rear,  crying  for  sorrow 
and  sympathy.  Grandma  and  mother  both  met 
them  at  the  door. 

"  Well,  if  ever  I  did  !  "  said  grandma.  "  What 
that  child  will  do  next  is  past  telling." 

Somebody's  strong  arms  took  Ainslee  and  car- 
ried him  up  to  the  nursery.  He  knew  in  a  moment 
that  it  must  be  Uncle  Ainslee,  for  father  was  not 
there,  and  grandpa  never  carried  him,  because  he 
had  rheumatism.  Whoever  it  was  went  right  out, 
however,  and  Ainslee  was  left  alone.  It  seemed 
a  long  while  before  anybody  came.  He  heard 
children's  voices  and  wondered  Avho  they  were, 
and  the  smell  of  green  peas  came  up,  and  made 
him  remember  how  hungry  he  was.  By  and  by 
the  door  opened  and  mother  came  in.  She  looked 
quite  sad,  and  Ainslee  began  to  cry. 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  run  away,  mamma,"  he 
said,  "  but  I  couldn't  help  it.  Grandma  was 
asleep,  and  I  got  so  lonesome,  and  there  wasn't 
anything  but  a  fly  to  play  with." 

"And  do  you  always  mean  to  do  what  you 


AINSLEE.  15 

want  instead  of  what  mamma  tells  yon  ?  "  said 
his  mother. 

"  No,  oh  no  !  "  sobbed  Ainslee.  "  I  will  mind, 
but  I  do  smell  so  bad." 

"  You  must  have  another  bath,"  said  his  mother, 
"  but  you  have  only  one  of  your  morning  suits  to 
put  on,  because  you  have  soiled  all  your  others. 
You  may  come  down  to  dinner  when  you  are 
clean." 

"  Don't  tell  'em  I  tumbled,"  said  Ainslee. 

"  They  all  know,"  said  his  mother  ;  "  for  Sin- 
ny's  mother  told  me  before  them.  Sinny  was  a 
good  boy,  and  took  all  the  blame  of  your  fall. 
His  mother  said  she  should  whip  him,  but  I  told 
her  you  had  been  more  naughty  than  he,  and 
that  your  fright  had  been  sufficient  punishment 
for  both." 

Just  then  the  dinner-bell  rang,  and  nurse  came 
in  in  a  hurry.  She  doused  him  into  the  water, 
and  brushed  his  hair  very  hard,  but  Ainslee  felt 
too  ashamed  to  object  to  anything.  But  when 
he  looked  at  the  coarse  linen  suit  lying  on  the 
bed,  he  did  feel  tried. 

"  Are  there  any  little  boys  down-stairs,  Jane  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"  One,"  said  Jane. 

"  What's  he  got  on  ?  " 

"  White  clothes  like  those  you  lent  the  pigs." 


16  TFIE  AIXSLEE  STORIES. 

"  Arc  there  any  little  girls  ?  " 

"  One." 

"  Oh  clear  I  "  said  Ainslee,  beginning  to  cry 
again,  "I  don't  want  to  wear  my  hateful  old 
clothes,  and  I  haven't  got  any  but  copper-toed 
shoes.  Go  'way  Jane.  I  won't  have  on  the 
ugly  things." 

"  Then  you  shouldn't  a-put  your  best  ones  in 
the  pig-pen,"  said  nurse. 

Ainslee  wanted  to  slap  her,  but  a  sudden  feel- 
ing of  how  really  naughty  he  had  been  came 
over  him.  Baby  cried  out  just  then,  and  nurse 
left  him  hastily. 

"  I  can't  go  down  looking  so,"  said  Ainslee,  who 
thought  a  good  deal  of  nice  clothes.  "  There's 
everybody  down  there ;  and  they'll  all  know 
I  spoiled  my  best  clothes  in  the  pig-pen,  an'  I 
don't  want  to  see  'em." 

Voices  came  up  from  the  dining-room,  and  he 
heard  the  children  laughing. 

"  I  wish  I  was  a  little  pig,"  said  Ainslee,  "  then 
I  wouldn't  care  how  I  looked." 

Suddenly  his  face  brightened.  "  I'm  going  to 
be  good  inside,  if  I  ain't  pretty  outside,"  said  he. 

He  put  on  his  clothes  and  pushed  into  the  cop- 
per-toes himself,  so  that  nurse  had  little  to  do 
when  she  came  back.  Then  he  went  bravely 
down  the  stairs,  and  on  to  the  dining-room  door, 


AINSLEE.  17 

where  he  stood,  looking  so  good  and  sweet,  that 
Grandpa  Walton  caught  him  and  gave  him  a  hug. 
Then  Ainslee  saw  a  pair  of  very  bright  brown 
eyes  looking  at  him,  and  was  sure  it  was  Uncle 
Ainslee.  Mamma  had  kept  a  seat  for  him,  and 
this  tall  gentleman  lifted  him  into  it,  and  kissed 
him,  as  he  passed  him  on. 

There  were  several  strangers,  but  Ainslee  felt 
too  hungry  to  think  about  anything  else  just  then. 
By  and  by  he  raised  his  eyes  to  find  the  two 
children  opposite  looking  at  him  very  hard. 

"  Who  are  they  ?  "  he  whispered  to  his  mother. 

"  Uncle  John's  two  children,  John  and  Lizzie," 
said  his  mother. 

Ainslee  felt  too  shy  to  say  anything  then,  but 
after  dinner,  before  he  really  knew  it,  they  were 
talking  together  on  the  piazza,  and  he  was  giving 
them  a  full  and  particvilar  account  of  all  he  had 
been  doing.  Soon  Uncle  Ainslee  and  mamma 
came  walking  out,  and  then  Ainslee  looking  up, 
said,  "  Do  tell  us  a  story,  Uncle  Ainslee." 

"Well,  really!"  said  Uncle  Ainslee,  "I've 
left  part  of  my  stories  in  California  and  part  in 
China,  and  I  don't  believe  I've  brought  home 
one." 

"  Oh  yes,  you  have  !  "  said  Ainslee,  "  because 
mamma  said  she  guessed  you'd,  tell  us  one  to- 
night." 

2 


18  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

"  Oil,  she  did —  did  she  ?  "  said  Uncle  Ainslee  ; 
"  then  she  must  tell  one  first." 

So  mamma  told  a  short  story,  and  then  Uncle 
Ainslee,  leaning  back  m  his  camp  chair,  began, 
but  for  what  he  told  you  must  look  in  the  next 
chapter. 


TI. 

UNCLE  AINSLEe's    SQUIRREL  STORY. 

Far  up  in  the  top  of  the  tallest  tree  you  can 
see  in  the  wood,  began  Uncle  Ainslee,  there  lived 
once  a  red  squirrel.  He  was  a  great-great- 
grandson  of  that  very  squirrel  I  used  to  read 
about,  who  went  off  to  see  the  world,  and  got 
picked  up  and  carried  away  by  a  hawk.  This 
sad  event  made  such  an  impression  on  all  the 
family,  that  the  story  was  told  to  every  child  and 
grandchild,  so  that  all  of  them  became  almost 
afraid  of  their  shadows,  and  always  had  a  crick 
in  their  necks  from  looking  up  to  see  if  a  hawk 
were  coming. 

Our  squirrel  was  one  of  a  very  large  family, 
who,  as  they  grew  old  enough  not  to  feel  afraid, 
had  one  after  another  left  for  other  trees,  till  he 
only  remained  at  home.  Naturally  of  a  very 
timid  and  gentle  disposition,  he  seldom  went  out 
alone  ;  and  so  when  after  a  time  both  father  and 
mother  died  he  shut  himself  up  in  his  hole,  and 
grew  quite  thin  for  want  of  exercise. 

One  morning  he  put  his  head  out  of  the  hole, 


20  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

feeling  very  forlorn  and  lonesome.  The  sun  was 
shining  gloriously,  and  Mrs.  Robin,  who  had  a 
nest  on  the  branch  below,  sat  on  the  smallest 
twig  on  tlie  end,  swinging  and  swaying  and  sing- 
ing, as  if  she  were  crazy. 

"  There's  no  hawk  there,  I'm  sure,"  said  Mr. 
Squirrel,  and  he  ran  down  a  little  way. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Squirrel !  "  said  Mrs.  Robin,  "  I 
thought  you  had  gone  away." 

"  Oh  no,  indeed,"  said  Mr.  Squirrel ;  "  I  never 
should  think  of  such  a  thing.  How  good  the 
sun  feels !  "  and  he  gave  a  little  jump  of  de- 
light. 

"  Why  do  you  stay  in  your  hole  all  the  time  ?  " 
said  Mrs.  Robin. 

"  Because  I  am  afraid  to  come  out,"  said  Mr. 
Squirrel,  "  and  there's  lots  in  there  to  eat  yet." 

"  I  wouldn't  live  on  last  year's  nuts,"  said 
Mrs.  Robin,  "  when  there  are  fresh  strawberries 
not  a  dozen  trees  off." 

Mr.  Squirrel  looked  thoughtful. 

"That's  very  true,  Mrs.  Robin,"  said  he; 
"  but  suppose  I'm  snapped  up  by  the  same  hawk 
that  carried  off  my  great-grandfather  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  "  said  she.  "  But  you  know  there  are 
no  hawks  now  to  speak  of.  I'm  an  old  bird,  a 
good  deal  older  than  you,  and  I've  never  seen 
one  yet.     If  your  great-grandfather  hadn't  been 


UNCLE  AINSLEE'S   SQUIRREL   STORY.  21 

wandering  in  the  open  fields,  he  would  never  have 
been  carried  off.  Any  squirrel  could  get  away 
from  a  dozen  hawks,  by  running  into  any  one 
of  the  holes  close  by."  Here  Mrs.  Robin  shook 
her  head,  and  began  her  song  again,  but  just 
then  spying  a  lovely  green  caterpillar  climbing 
up  the  tree,  she  flew  down  to  get  it  for  her  nest 
full  of  young  ones. 

Mr.  Squirrel  ran  back  to  his  hole,  to  think  the 
matter  over.  It  was  really  very  dingy  in  there. 
The  bed  and  bedroom  were  in  sad  disorder,  for 
the  moss  sheets  had  not  been  changed  for  nobody 
could  tell  how  long  a  time,  and  he  had  piled  up 
nutshells  till  hardly  a  ray  of  light   could  get  in. 

"  I'll  clean  house,  I  think,"  said  he.  So  he 
pitched  out  all  the  old  shells,  and  sent  all  the 
musty  moss  flying  after. 

"  Now,"  said  he,  "  I'll  get  some  more." 

So,  forgetting  altogether  that  he  had  gone 
home  to  think  about  matters,  he  raced  down  the 
tree,  and  off"  to  the  edge  of  the  brook  where 
grew  such  green  moss  as  never  was  seen.  Mr. 
Squirrel  stood  on  a  stone  just  at  the  edge,  and 
drank  some  water.  As  he  did  so,  he  saw  him- 
self plainly,  as  if  it  had  been  a  looking-glass. 

"  My  gracious  !  "  said  Mr.  Squirrel,  "  can  this 
be  me  ?  "  and  indeed  there  was  reason  for  ask- 
ing.    Bits   of  dead  moss   were  all  through  his 


22  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

hair,  his  face  was  du'ty,  and  his  tail  in  a  perfect 
tangle,  with  a  burr  stuck  on  the  end. 

"  I  must  look  better  than  this,"  said  Mr. 
Squirrel,  "  before  I  do  another  thing." 

So  he  darted  home  as  fast  as  he  could  go, 
■washed  his  face,  and  combed  his  hair  and  tail 
with  his  little  paws  till  they  shone.  Then  he 
ran  down  to  the  brook  again. 

"  If  I  were  only  a  little  fatter,"  said  Mr. 
Squirrel,  "  I  should  be  almost  as  good  looking 
as  my  father.  I  must  eat  more.  How  nice  it  is 
to  be  clean  again  ;  I  I'eally  believe  I  don't  feel 
half  as  much  afraid  as  I  did  when  I  was  dirty." 

With  that  he  pulled  off  the  fresh  moss  as  much 
as  he  could  carry,  and  ran  back  and  forth  in  this 
way  to  the  tree,  till  he  made  a  delightful  bed, 
and  his  house  was  in  perfect  order. 

"  Now,"  said  Mr.  Squirrel,  "  I've  earned  a 
good  supper,  and  I'll  have  strawberries." 

So  he  scampered  off  to  the  foot  of  a  great 
oak,  where  he  had  often  been  for  them  with  an 
older  brother,  who  was  gone  now,  he  could  not 
tell  where.  There  they  were  red  and  ripe,  and 
Mr.  Squirrel  had  such  an  appetite  that  he  came 
very  near  being  greedy  and  making  himself  sick. 
Just  as  he  was  about  to  take  one  too  much,  such 
a  beautiful  little  squirrel  came  running  to  the 
old  oak,  that  he  dropped  his  berry  and  sat  star- 


UNCLE  AINSLEE'S   SQUIRREL  STORY.  23 

ing  at  her.  Her  eyes  were  bright  as  black 
beads,  and  her  tail  was  so  fine  and  bushy  that  it 
quite  covered  her  back  when  she  sat  up  to  eat 
her  berry.  Mr.  Squirrel  would  have  spoken, 
but  feeling  very  bashful,  he  ran  home  as  fast  as 
he  could  go.  Mrs.  Robin  spoke  as  he  passed 
her  nest.  It  was  twilight  now,  and  she  was 
chirping  a  little  soft  chirp  to  the  wee  birdies 
under  her  wing. 

"  How  nice  you  look,"  she  said.  "  Do  get 
fat,  and  you'll  be  the  best  looking  squirrel  about 
here." 

Mr.  Squirrel  slept  better  that  night  than  he 
had  for  a  long  time,  and  was  on  the  very  tip-top 
of  the  tree  before  sunrise,  whisking  from  one 
limb  to  another,  and  wondering  why  he  had  not 
given  himself  this  good  time  before.  Mrs. 
Robin,  who  was  having  an  early  breakfast,  flew 
up  just  then  with  a  small  black  bug  in  her 
bill,  and  handed  it  to  her  oldest.  There  was 
such  a  chirping  for  another,  that  Mr.  Squirrel 
thought  he  could  not  stand  such  a  noise,  and 
almost  made  up  his  mind  to  tell  Mrs.  Robin 
that  she  must  keep  the  children  more  quiet. 
Then  he  remembered  what  a  noise  he  had  been 
making  himself,  chattering  as  loud  as  he  could 
while  he  jumped  qJpout,  and  so  he  ran  off  to  the 
old  oak-tree  without  saying  a  word.     There  sat 


2-1  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

Miss  Squirrel,  holding  a  big  red  berry  in  her 
dainty  little  paws. 

"  Good  mornino; !  "  said  Mr.  Squirrel ;  and 
then,  quite  in  a  tremble  to  think  how  bold  he 
had  been,  turned  about  and  raced  home  without 
a  single  berry. 

Back  in  his  house  eating  a  musty  nut,  things 
seemed  quite  dismal,  and  Mrs.  Robin  coming  up 
to  make  a  short  call,  wondered  at  his  sad  face. 

"  Don't  come  in,"  said  Mr.  Squirrel.  "  You'll 
be  more  comfortable  outside  on  a  twig,  and  I'll 
sit  in  the  door  and  talk  to  you." 

So  he  told  her  of  his  meeting  with  little  Miss 
Squiri'el ;  how  charming  she  was,  and  how  much 
he  wanted  to  talk  to  her,  but  had  been  so  bashful, 
he  had  only  dared  to  say  "  Good  morning." 

"  My  house  is  in  beautiful  order,"  said  he  ; 
"  big  enough  for  ten,  and  how  nice  it  would  be 
to  get  in  our  winter  nuts  together,  instead  of 
all  alone ;  yet  I  'm  afraid  to  ask  her  if  she'll 
come." 

"  Wait  awhile,"  said  Mrs.  Robin,  "  and  let 
me  think  it  over." 

So  she  rocked  back  and  forth  on  her  twig,  and 
sang  a  little  as  she  always  did  when  she  wanted 
to  compose  her  mind,  and  then  at  last  she  flew 
right  away  without  another  \vord. 

What   did    she   do,  but   fly  at    once  to  Miss 


UNCLE  AINSLEE'S  SQUIRREL  STORY.     25 

Squirrel,  who  sat  in  her  house  not  a  dozen  trees 
ofF. 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Robin,  "  h'fe  is  very- 
short,  jou  know,  and  I'm  sure  you'll  be  more 
comfortable  in  a  nice  tree  near  me,  than  here  all 
alone.  There  is  not  a  better  squirrel  in  the 
whole  wood,  and  I'm  sure  if  he  were  not  so 
bashful,  he  would  come  and  tell  you  himself  how 
anxious  he  is  that  you  should  marry  him,  and 
come  and  live  in  his  tree." 

"  Dear  me  !  "  said  Miss  Squirrel ;  "  it's  very 
sudden." 

"  I  know  it  is,"  said  Mrs.  Robin  ;  "  but  where's 
the  use  of  wasting  time  ?  He  loves  you  dearly, 
and  you  will  him  ;  "  and  off  she  flew. 

All  this  time  Mrs.  Robin  had  not  once  said 
who  "  he  "  was,  but  Miss  Squirrel  knew  very 
well,  and  sat  still  thinking  about  it.  Getting 
thirsty  after  a  while,  she  ran  down  her  tree  for 
a  berry.  As  it  happened,  Mr.  Squirrel,  being 
thirsty  too,  had  started  out  for  the  same  purpose, 
and  both  met  under  a  big  root. 

"Oh!"  said  Mr.  Squirrel;  and  "My  gra- 
cious !  "  said  Miss  Squirrel ;  and  then  they  both 
looked  at  each  other. 

"  Will  you  ?  "  said  Mr.  Squirrel. 

"  I  will !  "  said  Miss  Squirrel,  without  waiting 
a  minute,  and  then   they  rubbed  noses,  for  that 


26  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

is  the  way  tliey  kiss  in  Squirrel  Land.  Tiien 
they  each  took  a  berry,  and  running  home  to 
Mr.  Squirrel's  tree,  went  up  to  the  branch  oppo- 
site his  hole,  and  ate  them. 

jNIrs.  Robin,  perfectly  delighted,  sat  below, 
and  looked  up  at  them,  singing  such  a  song  that 
the  leaves  were  quite  excited,  and  whispered  to 
each  other  that  something  more  than  common 
must  be  the  matter. 

"  You'll  never  leave  me  —  will  you  ?  "  said 
Mr.  Squirrel. 

"  No,"  said  Miss  Squirrel,  "  only  to  get  my 
winter  things,  —  my  checkerberries,  you  know, 
that  I'd  packed  away  in  moss." 

So  they  ran  back  to  her  tree,  and  spent  the 
rest  of  the  day  in  moving  the  best  nuts  and  ber- 
ries, and  so  little  Miss  Squirrel  changed  into 
Mrs.  Squirrel,  and  both  began  housekeeping 
together. 

I  could  not  begin  to  tell  you  all  the  good  times 
they  had,  for  it  might  take  all  niglit,  and  perhaps 
all  next  day  too.  Tiny  little  squirrels  came, 
grew  up,  and  left  the  home  tree  for  another,  but 
Mrs.  Squirrel  could  jump  as  far  and  as  high  as 
the  quickest  of  her  children,  and  laid  in  a  won- 
derful store  of  nuts  every  fall.  Mrs.  Robin 
builded  her  nest  each  year,  and  sang  sweetly 
every  morning,  and  Mr.  Squii-rel  grew  feebler. 


UNCLE  AINSLEE'S  SQUIRREL  STORY.     27 

He  gathered  fewer  nuts,  slept  many  hours  longer 
by  (lay,  and  grew  fonder  and  fonder  of  telling 
stories  of  his  early  life. 

One  morning  Mrs.  Squirrel  did  not  get  up  ; 
she  had  a  bad  headache,  she  said,  and  must  keep 
still.  Mr.  Squirrel  sat  in  the  door  and  warned  off 
all  the  visitors,  and  they  had  a  great  many,  for 
they  were  a  very  sociable  family.  By  and  by, 
looking  in  and  seeing  her  fast  asleep,  he  thought 
a  fresh  checkerberry  would  be  the  very  thing  for 
her,  and  so  started  down  the  tree  to  get  it.  He 
went  slowly,  for  his  legs  were  quite  stiff  now  in 
the  morning,  and  he  never  thought  of  jumping 
before  noon,  when  they  began  to  be  more  limber. 
Only  a  little  way  from  the  spot  where  the  berries 
were  thickest,  sat  a  square  box ;  in  it  lay  deli- 
cious looking  nuts,  and  Mr.  Squirrel,  never  sus- 
pecting anything,  and  only  thinking  what  a  treat 
he  could  carry  poor  Mrs.  Squirrel,  walked  in  and 
picked  up  one.  Click !  went  something  behind 
him,  and  turning,  he  saw  a  set  of  wires  where 
=  the  door  had  been.  Poor  Squirrel!  he  bit  and 
tore  at  them  in  vain,  and  finally,  all  faint  and 
exhausted,  lay  down  and  wished  he  could  die. 
Soon  there  were  steps  and  voices.  Mr.  Squirrel 
knew  very  well  what  it  meant,  for  long,  long 
ago,  a  friend  of  one  of  his  cousins  had  been 
caught  in  a  trap  and  carried  away  by  a  bad 
boy. 


28  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

"  Poor  little  squirrel !  "  said  a  gentle  voice 
over  him.  "  I'd  let  you  out  if  I  could,  but 
Tom  won't  let  me." 

"  No,  I  guess  Tom  won't,"  said  a  voice. 
"  I'm  going  to  have  him  in  a  cage,  with  a  big 
wheel,  and  teach  him  to  come  when  I  call." 

Alas !  for  Mr.  Squirrel !  Tom  carried  him 
home,  and  an  elegant  tin  house  was  provided, 
with  four  rooms,  a  circular  staircase,  and  a 
large  wheel,  but  only  one  of  all  these  would  Mr. 
Squirrel  use.  Into  the  bedroom  he  dragged 
every  bit  of  cotton  and  wool  furnished  him,  and 
then  rolling  himself  up  in  a  round  ball,  lay  day 
after  day  and  thought  of  poor  INIrs.  Squirrel. 
Sometimes  the  children  poked  him  out  with  a 
stick,  and  then  he  looked  at  them  so  sadly 
and  forlornly  that  little  Mary's  heart  was  quite 
broken. 

"  He's  a  hateful  old  thing,"  said  Tom  one 
day,  "  and  getting  thin  just  to  spite  me." 

"  Poke  him  into  the  wheel,"  said  Mary. 
"  Maybe  he'll  like  to  run  round." 

So  the  two  pushed  and  poked,  till  Mr.  Squir- 
rel was  in  the  wheel,  but  run  round  he  would 
not.  Tom,  very  angry,  gave  the  cage  a  push 
which  threw  it  to  the  floor.  Tom  did  not  notice, 
as  he  picked  up  scattered  nuts  and  bits  of  cloth, 
that  one  bar  in  the  door  had  flown  out,  but  Mr. 


UNCLE  AINSLEE'S   SQUIRREL  STORY.  29 

Squirrel  saw  it  the  very  minute  he  came  to  his 
senses. 

"  I  do  really  think,"  said  he,  "  that  I've  got 
thin  enough  to  squeeze  through  there." 

Half  an  hour  later,  Tom,  coming  into  the 
room,  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  bushy  tail  disappear- 
ing through  the  open  window. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  he  ;  "  can  that  be  our  squirrel?  " 
Sure  enough  it  was. 

"  I  don't  care,"  said  Tom  ;  "  he  wasn't  any 
good ;  "  and  so  the  matter  ended.  Whether  he 
reached  home  safely  or  not,  you  will  soon  see. 
In  the  mean  time  I  will  tell  you  how  poor  Mrs. 
Squirrel  fared. 

Fast  asleep  when  Mr.  Squirrel  went  out  for 
his  checkerberry,  she  soon  awoke,  and  feeling 
better,  went  to  the  door  and  looked  out.  Mrs. 
Robin  was  hopping  up  from  twig  to  twig. 

"  Where's  my  husband  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Squirrel. 

"Why,  isn't  he  at  home?"  asked  Mrs. 
Robin. 

"No,"  answered  Mrs.  Squirrel,  and  then, 
quite  anxious,  sat  down  in  the  door  to  watch. 
By  and  by  there  was  a  rustling,  but  it  was  only 
Little  Squirrel,  the  last  one  at  home.  So  the 
two  sat  and  waited  till  night  came,  and  then  went 
to  bed  sad. 


30  TFIE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

Days  and  days  passed,  and  no  Mr.  Squirrel 
came.  Little  Squirrel  had  always  had  very 
poor  health,  and  though  their  stock  of  nuts  and 
berries  ran  low,  he  looked  for  no  fresh  ones ;  so 
Mi's.  Squirrel  worked  harder  than  ever,  and 
each  night  said,  "  I  think  Mr.  Squirrel  will 
come  to-morrow." 

Mrs.  Robin  shook  her  head,  and  said  to  her- 
self, "  He'll  never  come  back ;  but  it  is  just  as 
well  she  should  keep  busy,  for  that  shiftless 
Little  Squirrel  will  never  do  anything." 

One  day  there  came  walking  through  the 
wood  a  man  with  a  gun  on  his  shoulder.  No- 
body had  ever  fired  a  gun  in  those  woods,  and 
Mrs.  Squirrel  ran  back  and  forth  with  her 
berries  fearlessly. 

"  Ha!  "  said  the  man  ;  "  there's  a  fat  one  !  " 
and  he  fired. 

Little  Squirrel  eating  nuts  in  the  hole,  heard 
a  noise.  "  It's  thundering,"  said  he,  and  went 
on  eating.  By  and  by  he  heard  a  little  faint 
sound  at  the  bottom  of  the  tree,  and  he  went 
out,  and  down  to  the  end  of  the  bough  where 
Mrs.  Robin  lived.  Looking  from  it  to  the 
ground,  he  saw  her  standing  perfectly  still  over 
some  little  red  lump.  He  ran  fast  down  to  it. 
Ah  !  how  dreadful !  A  shot  had  broken  Mrs. 
Squirrel's  leg,  and  she  lay  there  all  bloody  with- 
out stirring.     He  thought  she  was  dead. 


UNCLE  AINSLEE'S  SQUIRREL  STORY.  31 

"  Oh,  what  shall  I  do  ?  "  cried  he  ;  "  there 
won't  he  anybody  to  get  my  nuts." 

"  Hush  about  your  nuts,"  said  Mrs.  Robin, 
"  and  go  for  Dr.  Owl  fast  as  ever  you  can." 

Dr.  Owl  would  not  come  at  first,  because  the 
sun  hurt  his  eyes,  and  made  him  wink  so  hard 
that  he  Avas  sure  he  could  not  see  her  long  enough 
at  a  time  to  do  any  good.  Finally  he  did,  how- 
ever, and  between  them  they  carried  poor  Mrs. 
Squirrel  to  her  bed,  and  there  she  lay  for  many, 
many  days.  She  was  so  old  that  Dr.  Owl  said 
her  bones  did  not  join  well,  and  then  she  was 
always  \^rrying  about  Mr.  Squirrel,  till  she 
grew  so  thin  that  nobody  knew  her. 

She  lay  one  day,  aching  and  -miserable,  when 
a  shadow  passed  between  her  and  the  light,  and 
a  squirrel  came  in,  old,  and  gray,  and  thin,  and 
almost  dead.  For  just  a  moment  Mrs.  Squirrel 
looked,  and  then  she  knew  Mr.  Squirrel. 

He  lay  down  by  her  on  the  moss,  and  cuddled 
up  close. 

Then  they  kept  very  still,  for  they  were  too 
glad  to  say  one  word.  They  had  lived  their  life 
through,  and  all  their  last  strength  had  gone  in 
waiting.  So  when,  after  a  time,  Mrs.  Robin  and 
Dr.  Owl  came  up  together,  there  was  nothing 
more  to  do,  for  little  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Squirrel  had 
shut  their  bright  eyes,  and  laid  down  their  little 


32  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

heads  for  the  last  time,  and  they  would  never 
raise  them  again. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Mrs.  Robin,  crying,  "  there'll 
never  be  such  another  pair  in  this  tree,  and  not 
one  left  that's  fit  to  take  their  place." 

Then  she  sent  to  all  the  birds  and  all  the 
squirrels,  and  they  tolled  the  bluebells  and  the 
wild  harebells,  that  grew  on  the  rocks,  and  there 
was  mourning  in  Squirrel  Land  and  in  Bird  Land. 
And  by  and  by  they  made  a  little  nest  for  them, 
under  the  great  roots  of  the  old  oak,  where  they 
had  first  met,  and  one  day,  they  cari'ied  them  to 
it  and  laid  them  softly  in.  Then  the  Sand  Mar- 
tin shut  them  in  with  a  clay  covering,  so  that 
nothing  could  harm  or  reach  them  more,  and 
there  they  left  them.  And  this  story  is  told  by 
one  who  knows  the  language  of  Bird  Land  and 
of  Squirrel  Land  ;  and  this  is  the  end. 


III. 

CULLIGAN. 

"Speckle's  a  wicked  hen,"  said  Ainslee,  com- 
ing in  a  few  days  after  the  squirrel  story  had  been 
told.  "  She's  a  drefful  wicked  hen.  See  what 
she  did,  mamma,"  and  Ainslee  opened  his  hand, 
and  showed  a  little  yellow  chicken,  with  bloody 
head  and  closed  eyes. 

"  That  isn't  one  of  Speckle's  chickens,"  said 
grandma ;  "  it's  a  week  younger  than  her's  if  it's 
a  day.     How  came  it  with  Speckle's  ?  " 

"  I  looked  at  Speckle,"  Ainslee  said.  "  I 
looked  into  the  coop,  an'  her  eyes  shined  at  me. 
I  thought  she  was  lonesome,  'cause  I'd  squeezed 
one  o'  her  chickens  all  to  deff,  an'  I  took  one  o' 
the  white  hen's  chickies,  an'  put  it  close  to  her, 
an'  she  bited  it  most  to  deff,  grandma." 

"Didn't  you  know  any  better  than  that?" 
asked  grandma.  "  There's  some  hens  might 
take  a  strange  chicken  and  keep  it,  but  Speckle 
isn't  one  of  that  sort.  Don't  ever  do  such  a 
thing  again,  unless  you  want  to  kill  every  chicken 
we've  got." 


34  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

"  I  don't,"  s:iid  Ainslee.  "  This  cliickey  isn't 
dead  ;  it  kicks  just  a  speck,  grandma.  Can't  I 
have  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  grandma  said,  walking  away,  while 
mamma  took  the  little  downy  thing  into  her 
hands. 

"  We'll  put  it  in  a  basket,  on  some  cotton," 
she  said,  "  and  perhaps  it  will  get  well  by  and 

by." 

Ainslee  ran  for  his  little  basket,  and  after  the 
cotton  had  been  put  in,  made  a  nest  in  it  for  the 
chicken,  and  set  it  before  the  fire,  and  then  stood 
near  for  a  time  to  keep  pussy  away,  while  mam- 
ma went  back  to  grandma's  room.  He  was  hot 
with  playing,  and  soon,  between  the  fire  and  the 
sun,  which  poured  in  at  the  window,  grew  so 
much  hotter,  he  did  not  know  what  to  do.  Ann 
came  in  with  a  pail  of  water,  and  looked  surprised 
to  see  him  standing  still  by  the  stove,  with  big 
drops  of  perspiration  chasing  one  another  over 
his  nose. 

"  For  the  land's  sake,  what  you  roasting  your- 
self alive  for?"  she  said,  setting  down  the  pail 
with  a  thump.  "  I  should  think  you'd  be  hot 
enough  running." 

"  I  am,"  said  Ainslee,  turning  around.  "  I'm 
most  all  choked ;  but  then  if  I  go  away  the 
chickey'U  get  eaten  up,  maybe.  Pussy  keeps 
a-smellin'  so." 


CDLLIGAN.  35 

"  Shut  her  up,"  said  Ann.  "  Put  her  in  the 
meal-room,  an'  maybe  she'll  get  a  mouse.  I  saw. 
one  there  this  morning." 

Pussy  must  have  understood  what  was  said, 
for  as  Ainslee  started  after  her,  she  walked  under 
the  sink,  quite  behind  the  waste  pipe,  and  dabbed 
at  his  hand  with  her  sharp  claws  every  time  he 
reached  forward. 

"  I  can't  get  her,"  he  said  at  last,  "  an'  I'm 
hotter'n  hotter  every  minute." 

"  Give  her  this  an'  she'll  come  out  fast  enough," 
said  Ann,  handing  him  a  bit  of  cheese-ji'ind,  which 
brought  pussy  out  the  moment  she  smelled  it. 
Ainslee  lugged  her  into  the  meal-room,  a  sort  of 
long  closet,  with  small  covered  bins  on  one  side, 
where  rye,  Indian  meal,  and  such  things  were 
kept.  A  mouse  scampered  across  the  shelf  as 
the  door  opened,  and  pussy,  whose  tail  grew  as 
big  as  three,  the  minute  she  spied  it,  dropped  the 
cheese  and  whisked  after  it.  Ainslee  stood  still, 
long  enough  to  see  the  tip  end  of  the  mouse's 
tail  going  into  a  hole,  and  pussy's  paw  almost  on 
it,  and  then  shut  the  door  and  went  back  to  the 
chicken,  which  was  holding  up  its  head  a  little, 
and  trying  to  look  over  the  edge  of  the  basket. 

"  I  guess  it's  hungry,"  he  said.  "  Let  me  have 
some  breffas  for  it,  Ann." 

Ann  gave  him  a  little  meal  and  water  in  a  cup. 


36  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

and  Ainslee  put  some  l)efore  tlie  chicken,  wliich 
took  no  notice  of  it. 

"  It  isn't  liuno-ry  a  bit,"  he  said,  looking  dis- 
appointed, "  Oh,  there's  Sinny  !  SInny,  this 
chickey  won't  eat  a  bit." 

"What  chickey?"  said  Sinny,  coming  into 
the  kitchen,  and  Ainslee  told  him  how  it  hap- 
pened to  be  there. 

"  They  picks  up  bugs,  mostly,"  said  Sinny. 
"  Them's  what  the  old  hen  scratches  up  for  'em, 
you  know.     Let's  us  get  some." 

So  the  t^vo  went  out  to  the  side  of  the  barn 
where  all  the  coops  stood,  and  watched  for  a  little 
while,  to  find  out  just  what  bugs  were  scratched 
up,  but  could  not  very  well  see,  because  when- 
ever they  tried  to  get  near,  the  old  hen,  the  only 
one  out  with  a  brood,  clucked  fiercely,  and 
looked  as  if  she  meant  to  fly  at  them. 

"  I'm  tired  o'  waiting,"  said  Ainslee  at  last. 
"  I'm  goin'  to  get  a  speckled  worm  off  the  fennel. 
I  saw  some  there  a  little  while  ago.  Maybe 
they've  crawled  away,  though." 

Sinny  fan  on  before  him,  but  stopped  at  the 
asparagus-bed. 

"  Here's  a  first-rate  one,"  he  said,  picking  it 
up ;  "  real  slim,  so't  the  chickey  can  swallow  it 
easy." 

"  Come  along  then,"  said  Ainslee,    taking  it 


CULLIGAN.  37 

from  Sinny  ;  and  going  at  once  to  the  kitchen,  he 
put  it  down  in  the  basket,  out  of  which  the  worm 
began  to  crawl,  as  if  it  knew  the  best  thing  to  be 
done  was  to  get  away  as  fast  as  possible. 

"  Look  a-here,"  Sinny  said,  stopping  it ;  "  that 
ain't  the  way  you've  got  to  go.  Let's  put  it  in 
the  chickey's  mouth,  'cause,  you  see,  if  w^e  don't, 
it'll  get  out-doors  right  away." 

"Well,"  said  Ainslee  ;  "only  look  out  not  to 
touch  its  sore  head,"  and  he  pulled  open  the 
chicken's  bill,  while  Sinny  put  in  the  little  worm, 
which  hung  half  in  and  half  out,  as  the  bill  shut 
again. 

"  What  are  you  doing,  children  ?"  said  mamma, 
who  just  then  went  through  the  room. 

"  Givin'  the  chickey  things  it  loves,"  Ainslee 
answered ;  "  but  it  won't  eat." 

"I  should  think  not,"  said  mamma.  "It  is 
sick  now,  and  wants  nothing  but  to  be  let  alone. 
Run  away  with  your  worm,  and  I  will  see  that 
chickey  is  taken  care  of  myself." 

Mamma  hung  the  little  basket  on  a  nail  near 
the  window,  so  that  even  if  pussy  cam6'  out,  there 
would  be  hardly  any  danger  of  her  getting  it,  and 
Ainslee  and  Sinny  walked  back  to  the  garden, 
where  Mr.  Culligan  was  busy  weeding  the  onion 
and  beet  beds,  throwing  the  weeds  into  the  path 
behind  him  as  he  worked.     There  was  quite  a 


38  THE   AINSLEE  STORIES. 

pile  already,  and  Sinny  whispered  something  as 
he  looked  at  them,  which  must  liave  been  "  wheel- 
barrow," for  the  next  moment  Ainslee  said,  — 

"  You  goin'  to  put  'em  in  the  wheelbarrow 
pretty  soon,  Mr.  Culligan  ?  " 

"  Yes  an'  I  am,"  said  Mr.  Culligan.  "  You 
throw  thim  in  if  I  bring  it  along,  an'  maybe  I'll 
be  givin'  you  a  ride." 

"  That's  just  what  I  kept  a-wishin'  you'd  say," 
said  Ainslee,  jumping  up  and  down,  and  Culligan, 
in  a  few  moments,  brought  the  wheelbarrow  from 
a  side  path,  and  the  children  picked  up  the  weeds 
and  threw  them  in.  There  was  really  no  need 
of  carrying  them  away  till  the  barrow  was  full ; 
but  Culligan,  who  was  ready  to  do  anything  for 
Ainslee  that  could  be  done,  and  who  said  he  was 
"intirely  the  finest  o'  all  the  grandchildren," 
stopped  very  soon,  and  said,  "  Now,  in  with  yees  ; 
it's  in  the  barn-yard  they've  got  to  go." 

"  Then  drive  us  through  the  barn,"  said  Ains- 
lee, tumbling  in,  and  though  there  was  the  little 
gate  wide  open  at  the  back  of  the  barn-yard,  so 
that  one  minute  would  have  brought  them  to  it, 
Culligan  mumbled  something  about  not  stopping 
to  undo  the  back  gate,  and,  turning  his  head 
carefully  so  that  he  could  not  see  it,  went  around 
through  the  carriage-gate,  and  in  at  the  great 
front  door  of  the  barn,  and  so  out  to  the  yard. 


CULLIGAN.  39 

"  An'  did  you  iver  ?  "  he  said,  as  he  dumped 
children  and  weeds  together  in  -one  corner.  "  If 
there  isn't  the  back  gate  open  afther  all,  an'  me 
a-ridin'  yees  all  the  way  round,  whin  the  day's 
hotter'n  blazes." 

"  You  knowed  it  every  minute,"  said  Ainslee, 
jumping  up ;  "  only  you  wasn't  goin'  to  tell. 
Ain't  you  fust-rate  ?  " 

"  It's  stoppin'  me  wurruk  you  are,"  said  Culli- 
gan,  shaking  his  head.  "  Be  off  wid  yees,"  and 
lifting  up  his  hoe  he  chased  them  about  the  gar- 
den, till,  quite  tired  out  with  running  and  laugh- 
ing, they  sat  down  on  the  shady  bank  where  the 
Stars  of  Bethlehem  grew  in  the  early  spring,  and 
watched  the  weeding,  which  went  on  fast  now, 
to  make  up  for  lost  time.  You  will  hear  of  Cul- 
ligan  every  now  and  then  as  these  stories  go  on, 
and  so  I  will  tell  you  now  who  he  was,  and  what 
place  he  held  at  Grandpa  Walton's. 

Years  and  years  ago,  when  mamma  was  quite 
a  little  girl,  he  had  come  to  Windsor,  a  young 
Irishman,  fresh  from  the  old  country,  and  among 
the  first  of  the  many  thousands  who,  since  then, 
have  crossed  the  wide  water,  which  separates 
America  from  Europe.  How  he  had  wandered 
from  Boston,  where  the  ship  came  in,  to  this  spot 
far  up  among  the  Green  Mountains,  he  hardly 
knew  himself,  except  that  no  work  could  be  found 


40  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

in  Boston,  and  somebody  bad  told  him  farmers 
in  the  country  mioht  hire  liim.  So  from  one 
village  to  another  he  had  journeyed  on  with  his 
young  wife,  growing  more  and  more  discouraged 
as  be  found  nothing  to  do,  till  at  last,  late  one 
afternoon,  riding  home  from  Cornish,  grandpa 
saw  the  couple  turn  away  from  a  house  near  the 
bridge,  and  sit  down  on  a  log,  as  if  there  w-as 
nothing  more  to  hope  for.  Irishmen  were  a 
new  tiling  then,  and  no  farmer  or  farmer's  wife 
wanted  a  "  furriner "  about,  and  Culligan  sat 
with  bis  bead  bent  down,  while  his  wife,  with 
her  apron  over  her  face,  cried  silently. 

"  What  is  the  trouble?  "  grandpa  asked,  stop- 
ping before  them,  and  though  Culligan's  brogue 
was  not  very  easy  to  understand,  he  soon  knew 
the  whole  story,  and  then  stopped  to  think  a  few 
moments,  looking  at  them  the  while.  Both  had 
good  faces,  and  grandpa  determined  that  be  would, 
at  least,  help  them  a  little  in  the  effort  to  earn  an 
honest  living. 

"  Come  home  with  me  to-night,"  he  said,  "  and 
I  will  see  that  you  have  a  bed,  and  something  to 
eat ;  "  and  he  rode  slowly  along,  while  the  two 
followed,  pouring  out  a  flood  of  the  warm-hearted, 
grateful  words,  Irish  people  know  so  well  how  to 
speak. 

Grandma  liked  them  quite  as  well  as  grandpa. 


CULLIGAN.  41 

and  so  it  happened  that  the  room  over  the  car- 
riage-house was  finally  given  up  to  them,  and 
both  stayed  on.  Culligan  proved  to  be  a  very 
good  gardener,  though  he  knew  nothing  what- 
ever about  anything  else.  Both  were  anxious 
to  learn,  and  so  of  course  did,  as  everybody  can 
who  goes  to  work  with  a  will,  and  before  a  vear 
had  passed,  grandpa  said  he  should  be  as  sorry  to 
part  with  them,  as  he  had  been  to  think  of  taking 
them. 

The  room  over  the  carriage-house  was  ex- 
changed for  a  little  house  down  in  the  meadow. 
Children  came,  and  grew  up  in  the  quiet  town, 
going  to  school,  and  gaining  an  education,  of 
which  Culligan  was  proud  enough,  though  he 
himself  could  barely  read  and  write.  Out  of  the 
nine,  three  boys  were  in  good  trades,  one  ap- 
prenticed to  a  carpenter,  and  the  others,  both 
boys  and  girls,  still  at  home,  all  promising  to  do 
as  well  as  the  elder  ones. 

Culligan  had  never  lost  the  brogue,  and,  as  he 
was  growing  old,  probably  never  would  ;  but  his 
wife,  from  many  years  of  going  about  as  washer- 
woman, had  grafted  on  her  original  language  a 
wonderful  stock  of  Yankeeisms,  while  the  chil- 
dren were  all  growing  up  to  speak  quite  as  good 
English  as  the  majority  of  those  who  went  to  dis- 
trict school. 


42  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

Culliiran  still  had  a  little  sore  feeliiio;  against 
Americans,  and  sometimes  spoke  his  mind  when 
asked  why  he  would  never  work  for  anybody 
but  Grandpa  Walton. 

"  In  the  time  o'  my  nade,"  he  said,  "  wliin  1 
came  sore  futted,  an'  sorer  hearted  to  the  town, 
there  was  niver  a  one  to  give  bite  nor  sup,  nor 
the  chance  of  wurruk  to  an  honest  man.  Hard- 
hearted ye  were,  an'  there  is  not  one  among  ye 
that's  the  gintleman  an'  the  Christian  like  the 
Squire.  May  the  blissid  saints  make  his  bed  in 
glory  !  " 

Knowing  all  the  family  for  the  last  twenty 
years,  "you  can  see  that  Culligan  was  quite  an 
important  person  at  grandpa's,  and  though  his 
day's  works  grew  shorter  and  shorter,  granjdpa 
never  would  hint  tliat  they  might  be  longer. 
Ainslee  had  been  two  or  three  times  to  see  "  Mrs. 
Cully,"  as  he  called  her,  and,  if  Sinny  had  not 
been  so  near,  would  ])robably  have  become  very 
intimate  with  little  Pat,  the  smallest  of  all  the 
Cullio-ans.  The  little  house  in  the  meadow  had 
gone  to  pieces  long  ago  ;  but  its  place  had  been 
filled  by  a  very  nice  one  the  boys  had  helped 
to  build,  and  which  stood  on  the  same  spot  as 
the  old  one.  Ainslee  had  heard  some  of  this 
from  Ann,  and  some  from  Culligan  himself;  but 
would  have  liked  him  all  the  same,  probably,  if  he 


CULLIGAN.  43 

had  only  been  there  one  year  instead  of  twenty, 
so  long  as  he  did  pretty  much  everything  that  was 
asked  him,  and  once  in  a  while,  when  smoking 
his  pipe,  told  wonderful  stories  about  the  "  ould 
counthry." 

Mamma  called,  as  Ainslee  and  Sinny  sat  on 
the  bank,  and  both  ran  in,  to  find  that  something- 
had  happened,  about  which  I  shall  tell  you  in 
another  chapter. 


IV. 

CHICKEN    LITTLE. 

Uncle  Ainslee  stood  by  tlie  window,  where 
the  Httle  basket  had  been  hunf^j,  and  mamma  by 
him :  and  as  Ainslee  came  in,  he  saw  that  basket 
and  cotton  were  on  the  floor,  and  the  chicken  in 
Uncle  Ainslee's  hand. 

"Oh,  what  is  it?"  he  said;  and  then  almost 
cried  as  he  looked  at  the  chicken's  little  legs,  one 
of  which  hung  by  a  bit  of  skin  just  ready  to 
break.  "  Now  it's  deaded,  I  know.  Who  did 
doit?" 

'*  Pussy,  after  all,"  mamma  answered.  "  Some- 
body opened  the  meal-room  door,  and  pussy  saw 
the  basket  stirring,  I  suppose,  and  must  have 
jumped  from  the  sink,  and  struck  it  with  her 
paw,  till  she  knocked  it  from  the  nail.  I  came 
out  just  in  time  to  find  chickey  struggling  to  get 
away,  and  pussy  nolding  it  by  this  poor  little 
leg,  which,  Uncle  Ainslee  says,  must  be  cut 
oflP." 

Ainslee  cried  now  in  good  earnest,  till  his 
uncle  said,  "  The  chicken  won't  die,  I  think,  and 


CHICKEN  LITTLE.  45 

I  shall  tie  up  the  stump  nicely  till  it  is  all  well, 
and  then,  perhaps,  make  a  wooden  leg." 

"  Like  Jim  Field's,  down  in  the  village  ?  "  said 
Ainslee,  smiling  a  little. 

"  Not  quite  so  big,"  Uncle  Ainslee  answered. 

"  But  maybe  the  chickey'll  die  before  it  can 
get  on  the  leg,"  Ainslee  said,  looking  sober  again. 

"  No,  I  guess  not,"  Uncle  Ainslee  said,  taking 
out  his  penknife,  and  cutting  the  bit  of  skin 
which  held  the  leg.  "  People  who  go  thi'ough  a 
great  many  adventui'es  and  hair-breadth  escapes 
often  live  longer  than  those  wdio  stay  quietly  at 
home ;  and  this  chicken,  having  had  all  her 
troubles  early  in  life,  will  very  likely  be  a  great- 
great-grandmother,  and  see  dozens  of  her  de- 
scendants made  into  chicken  pies." 

Mamma  had  brought  some  soft  rags,  and  as 
Uncle  Ainslee  talked,  he  tied  up  the  leg,  and 
laid  the  chicken  back  in  the  basket. 

"  Don't  put  it  here  again,"  said  Ainslee, 
"  'cause  pussy '11  get  it  right  away,  if  you  do." 

"  No,"  said  Uncle  Ainslee,  "  I'll  take  it  to 
my  room,  for  I  shall  want  to  watch  the  leg  for 
the  next  day  or  two.  When  people  break  their 
legs,  you  know,  or  have  them  bitten  off  by  some 
dreadful  wild  animal,  they  must  lie  in  bed,  and 
have  the  doctor  come  every  day  till  they  get 
well." 


46  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

Uncle  Ainslee  walked  away,  and  up  to  his 
room,  and  Ainslee  followed,  and  watched  till 
the  chicken  had  been  put  on  a  table  in  the  cor- 
ner, and  then  went  down  to  talk  the  matter  over 
with  grandma,  while  SInny  walked  home. 

Two  or  three  days  went  by,  and  the  chicken, 
which  grandma  had  said  to  herself  could  not  and 
would  not  live,  though  she  had  not  told  Ainslee 
so,  not  only  lived,  but  seemed  to  improve  each 
day.  It  could  not  walk,  of  course,  with  only 
one  leg,  but  the  stump  of  the  other  was  healing 
nicely,  and  the  chicken's  little,  bright  eyes  look- 
ed about  quite  fearlessly,  at  the  many  children 
who  went  in  and  out,  and  it  ate  all  the  stirabout 
Uncle  Ainslee  thought  good  for  it. 

Every  day  Ainslee  asked  at  breakfast,  "  You 
goin'  to  make  the  leg  to-day,  uncle  ?  "  and  every 
day,  for  nearly  a  Aveek,  was  answered,  "  Not 
quite  yet,"  till  he  began  to  think  the  chicken 
would  be  an  old  hen,  before  she  walked  again. 
At  last  one  afternoon,  Ainslee  —  who  had  been 
up-stairs  for  some  time,  looking  at  a  great  book, 
filled  with  pictures,  which  he  was  allowed  to 
take  from  the  shelves  himself,  whether  Uncle 
Ainslee  was  in  the  room  or  not  —  heard  his 
quick,  firm  step  on  the  stairs.  In  a  moment  he 
came  in,  tossing  his  cap  to  the  bed,  and  sitting 
down  by  the  table  where  chickey  was  tied  into 


CHICKEN    LITTLE.  47 

the  basket,  and  giving  a  peep,  now  and  then,  as 
she  tried  to  get  out. 

"  Oh  !  you  goin'  to  make  the  leg  now  ?  "  said 
Ainslee,  shutting  tlie  book  and  running  to  the 
table.  "  I  didn't  believe  you  ever  would.  Why 
didn't  you  before  ?  " 

"  Because  the  stump  was  not  entirely  well," 
Uncle  Ainslee  answered,  beginning  to  cut  and 
shape  a  bit  of  wood  in  his  hand.  "  If  I  had 
made  the  leg  and  fastened  it  on  tight  enough  to 
make  it  stay,  it  would  have  hurt  the  chicken 
so  that  she  couldn't  walk,  perhaps ;  but  now 
I  don't  think  it  will.  We'll  see,  at  any 
rate." 

Ainslee  looked  on  till  the  piece  of  wood  had 
taken  shape,  —  quite  a  respectable  claw  on  the 
end.  Then  Uncle  Ainslee  took  the  string  off 
the  basket,  and,  lifting  chickey  out,  set  the  little 
stump  into  the  place  made  for  it  in  the  top  of  the 
new  leg,  putting  a  bit  of  cotton  wool  in  first. 
Then  he  wound  a  strip  of  soft  rag  carefully 
around  it  a  great  many  times,  sewed  the  end 
carefully  down  with  a  needle  and  thread,  he  took 
from  the  pincushion,  and  set  the  chicken  on  the 
table.  How  queer  it  did  look  !  So  queer  that 
Ainslee  began  to  laugh,  and  laughed  on  harder 
and  harder,  as  chickey,  who  had  at  first  stood  still, 
probably  dizzy  from  being  in  bed  so   long,  took 


48  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

one  step,  and  tlien  looked  down  to  find  ont  wliy 
one  foot  made  so  much  more  noise  than  another ; 
then  took  one  more,  and  at  last  walked  all  around 
the  table,  clickity -click,  helping  herself  alono; 
with  her  wings,  when  the  new  leg  did  not  Avork 
well, 

"  Just  a  speck  too  long,"  said  Uncle  Ainslee, 
picking  her  up,  and  cutting  at  the  claw.  "  Now 
it's  all  right,  I  think,"  and  setting  her  down 
again,  chiekey  went  bravely  around  once  more ; 
and,  stopping  at  the  saucer  of  water,  dipped  her 
little  beak  in  it,  and  looked  up  at  the  ceiling 
afterwards,  just  as  any  well  brought  up  chicken 
would  have  done. 

"  Well,  if  I  ever !  "  said  grandma,  who  had 
come  in.  "  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  chick- 
en's really  walking  ?  I  don't  believe  the  other 
chickens  will  let  that  stay  on  its  leg." 

"Let's  see,"  said  Ainslee.  "Come  quick, 
grandma,  an'  we'll  all  look.  Come,  mamma. 
The  chiekey  's  got  a  be-?/M-tiful  new  leg,  an'  its 
mother  won't  know  it.     Come  along,  do  !  " 

Quite  a  procession  followed  Uncle  Ainslee  and 
the  chicken,  to  the  side  of  the  barn,  where  the 
coops  were.  Nurse  was  curious,  as  well  as  Ann, 
and  Grandpa  Walton  was  pulled  along,  declar- 
ing he  never  had  heard  of  such  a  thing,  and  if 
the  chicken  grew  as  fast  as  its  brothers  and  sis- 
ters, it  would  want  a  new  leg  every  day. 


CHICKEN  LITTLE.  49 

Uncle  Ainslee  set  it  down  before  the  coop, 
among  the  other  nine,  and  then  drew  back  a  little 
with  the  others,  to  see  what  would  be  done. 

Our  chickey  seemed  to  know  the  old  home  at 
once,  and  ran  through  the  slats  to  Mrs.  White 
Hen,  who  was  sitting  still  in  the  corner,  cooling 
off,  after  a  violent  scratch  for  bugs  in  the  beet 
bed,  and  at  first  appeared  to  know  the  new- 
comer, and  lifted  one  wing  a  little,  as  if  inviting 
her  to  come  under  and  take  a  nap.  Chickey 
knew  that  feathers  were  a  deal  nicer  than  even 
the  best  of  cotton  wool,  in  the  reddest  of  baskets, 
and  started  forward,  hippity  hop,  to  the  old 
place.  Mrs.  White  Hen  rose  up  suddenly,  and 
looked  sharply  down  at  the  curious  leg.  No 
chicken  of  hers  had  ever  tumbled  out  of  the  egg 
in  that  shape,  and  yet  the  face  certainly  was 
familiar.  She  touched  her  bill  to  the  lump  of  rag. 
Nothing  like  any  of  her  family  about  that ;  and 
Mrs.  White  Hen,  making  up  her  mind  some  im- 
pudent chicken  was  trying  to  impose  upon  her, 
dabbed  at  our  poor  little  one's  head  with  her 
sharp  beak  ;  and  would  soon  have  made  an  end 
of  her,  had  not  Uncle  Ainslee  sprung  forward, 
and  caught  her  in  his  hand. 

"  What  an  old  heathen,"  he  said,  "  not  to  know 
her  own  child.     What  shall  we  do  about  it  ?  " 

"  I  told  you  so,"  said  grandma.     "  It's  got  to 


60  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

stay  in  tlie  house,  and  next  thing,  tlie  cat'll 
eat  it." 

"  She  sha'n't,"  said  Ainslee.  "  That's  a 
wicked  hen.  She  ouglit  to  be  boiled  riglit  away, 
grandma,  so's  not  to  Hve  any  longer.  She  don't 
love  her  own  little  chickey." 

"  She  doesn't  think  it  is  hers,"  said  mamma ; 
"  that  is  the  trouble.  She  doesn't  want  a  stran- 
ger in  the  place  of  her  own  little  ones.  Wooden 
legs  are  something  new  in  Hen  Land  ;  and  all 
we  can  do  is  to  care  for  poor  chickey  ourselves." 

So  our  chicken  went  back  to  the  house,  to 
stay  there  till  old  enough  to  fight  its  own  battles, 
and  was  offered  to  nurse,  who  declined  the  gift, 
and  then  to  Ann,  who  said  she  could  not  and 
would  not  be  bothered  with  it,  but  at  last  agreed 
to  help  Ainslee  in  fighting  off  Ponto  and  Pussy. 

Ponto  soon  learned  that  here  was  something 
to  be  let  alone ;  and  chickey,  after  a  time,  lost  all 
fear,  and  pecked  daintily  at  whatever  happened 
to  be  in  his  pan,  while  Ponto  rolled  his  eyes  and 
shook  himself,  as  if  to  say,  "  What  a  jolly  time 
I'd  have,  if  I  only  dared." 

Pussy  learned  more  slowly,  and  for  a  long 
time,  even  with  the  switch  in  plain  sight,  when- 
ever chickey  was  near,  her  eyes  grew  green,  and 
her  tail  swelled  up,  just  as  if  she  saw  a  mouse. 
At  last,  however,  making    up    her  mind  it  was 


CHICKEN  LITTLE.  51 

just  lost  time  to  get  so  excited  over  a  thing  she 
could  not  have,  she  shut  her  eyes,  and  made 
believe  she  could  not  see,  no  matter  how  close 
by  chickey  was. 

Uncle  Ainslee  had  named  it  Miss  Flite, — 
some  of  you  will  know  why,  and  those  of  you 
who  do  not,  must  ask,  —  and  Miss  Flite  grew  so 
well  acquainted  with  everybody,  and  was  always 
to  be  found  in  such  unexpected  places,  that 
grandma  said  she  was  the  greatest  plague  that 
even  Ainslee  had  ever  brought  into  the  house. 
Every  day  she  grew,  too,  so  that  several  legs  had 
to  be  made,  just  as  grandpa  had  said.  Do  what 
they  would,  though,  she  never  joined  the  other 
hens  and  chickens,  except  for  a  few  moments  at  a 
time  ;  and  no  matter  how  far  away  Ainslee  car- 
ried her,  always  came,  half  hobbling,  half  flying, 
back  again.  Ainslee  talked  of  taking;  her  home 
to  New  York  in  the  fall,  and  keeping  her  in  the 
back  yard,  and  had  even  planned  the  sort  of 
house  to  be  built  for  her,  when  something  hap- 
pened, which  put  an  end  to  all  planning. 

Miss  Flite,  grown  now  to  a  good-sized  pullet, 
sat  one  afternoon  in  the  sun,  on  the  door  step. 
Ponto  lay  asleep  behind  her.  Ann  had  gone  up 
to  her  own  room,  and  Ainslee  was  at  Sinny's, 
doing  all  the  mischief  two  heads  could  plan. 
Up  to  the  gate  drove  a  tin-peddler's  wagon, 
under  which  ran  along  a  small  black  dog. 


62  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

The  peddler  came  two  or  three  times  a  year  to 
grandpa's,  and  having  come  from  the  same  town 
as  grandma,  she  always  bought  something  of 
him. 

So,  to-day,  he  walked  in,  followed  by  the 
black  dog,  who  pricked  up  his  ears,  and  rushed 
at  Miss  Flite  directly.  Ponto  w'as  either  too 
sleepy  to  interfere,  or  was  rather  glad  to  have 
some  other  dog  do  what  he  had  been  longing  to 
be  about  for  such  a  while.  At  any  rate  he  lay 
still,  only  opening  just  one  eye,  to  see  the  fun ; 
and  our  chicken,  who  had  come  to  think  all  dogs 
were  like  Ponto,  and  so  did  not  move,  was 
caught  up,  and  shaken  almost  to  bits.  The  ped- 
dler called  the  black  dog  off,  but  too  late  for  little 
Miss  Flite,  who  never  held  up  her  head  again. 
She  was  not  strong,  you  know,  and  could  never 
have  scratched  for  a  living ;  but  for  all  that,  every- 
body was  very,  very  soiTy,  that  the  poor  little 
thing  should  die  in  such  a  way.  Ainslee  buried 
her  by  the  other  chicken,  that  same  afternoon, 
and  then,  going  into  the  summer-house,  cried  for 
a  few  minutes,  till  Uncle  Ainslee  came  out  and 
sat  down  by  him. 

"  I  keep  feelin'  drefful  bad,  every  minute,"  he 
said  presently.  "  You  said  Miss  Flite  might 
live  to  see  her  grandfather  made  into  chicken 
pie ;  an'  she  didn't.  I  wish  you'd  tell  me  a 
story." 


CHICKEN  LITTLE.  53 

"  About  her  grandfather  ? "  asked  Uncle 
Ainslee. 

"  About  a  bumble-bee,"  said  Ainslee,  turn- 
ing to  look  at  a  great  fellow,  which  had  just 
settled  down  on  a  white  clover ;  "  I  should 
think  a  bumble-bee  would  make  a  beautiful 
story." 

"  Perhaps  it  would,"  said  Uncle  Ainslee. 
"  I'll  tell  you  something  which  came  into  my 
mind,  when  I  was  watching  a  big  spider  this 
morning." 

And  Uncle  Ainslee  began  the  story  you  will 
find  in  another  chapter. 


V. 

THE    BUMBLE-BEE    STORY. 

Down  in  the  meadow,  under  a  very  large  root  of 
grass,  lived  a  young  Bumble-bee,  only  one  sea- 
son old,  who  thought  that  he  knew  more  thsfn 
his  mother  and  all  his  uncles  and  aunts  put  to- 
gether. Mrs.  Bumble-bee,  his  mother,  was  the 
steadiest  kind  of  a  bee,  who  had  made  her  house 
under  the  root,  and  brought  up  great  families  of 
young  Bumble-bees,  all  of  whom  now  had  nests 
of  their  own,  and  were  going  on  just  like  their 
mother,  except  this  one,  who  made  her  more 
trouble  than  any  fifty  of  her  other  children. 

Day  after  day  she  flew  to  the  best  clover  tops, 
and  brought  home  the  clearest  honey  that  ever 
was  seen  ;  and  day  after  day,  young  Bumble-bee 
refused  to  go  with  her,  and  buzzed  about  the 
door  till  she  came  home,  when  he  was  very  ready 
to  eat  fall  half  the  day's  work. 

"  There  is  something  quite  out  of  the  common 
way  about  me,"  he  would  say,  sticking  his  legs 
into  the  honey.  "  Some  day  I  know  I  shall  do 
something  that  nobody  would  have  thought  of, 


i 


THE  BUMBLE-BEE  STORY.  55 

and  then,  perhaps,  I  shall  have  a  glass  house  like 
the  Honey-bee." 

"  You'll  never  have  anything,  if  you  don't  go  to 
work,"  his  mother  used  to  say ;  but  Bumble-bee 
never  minded,  and  did  nothing  all  day  but  wish 
he  was  something  different.  He  was  very  inti- 
mate with  his  cousin,  the  Carpenter-bee,  who 
lived  in  a  fine  house  in  one  of  the  boards  on  the 
barn,  which  his  wife  had  lined  with  rose-leaves,  to 
make  a  soft  bed  for  her  little  ones,  and  he  never 
went  there  without  wishing  he  had  been  born  in 
a  board,  instead  of  down  in  the  ground  among 
the  bugs.  The  Black  Cricket,  who  lived  next  door 
under  a  stone,  made  fun  of  him ;  and  the  Burying- 
beetle  said  he  would  come  to  some  bad  end  surely, 
and  if  he  did,  he  knew  what  their  business  was, 
and  they  should  do  their  duty  by  him. 

As  the  summer  went  on,  the  white-faced  hor- 
nets came,  and  Bumble-bee  envied  them,  and 
wished  he  had  been  made  to  eat  the  sunny  side 
of  pears  and  plums.  Sometimes,  too,  he  looked 
in  at  the  glass  houses,  where  the  little  honey-bees 
worked  all  day  long,  and  wished  he  had  been  born 
there.  One  of  the  drones  invited  him  in  one  day, 
showed  him  the  beautiful  white  combs,  and  said 
that  he  had  all  to  eat  that  he  could  hold,  and 
never  did  a  thing.  After  this.  Bumble-bee  hung 
about    the  hive  every  day,   wishing  he   were  a 


56  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

drone,  till  one  morning,  flying  up  from  the 
meadow,  he  met  his  mother  going  home  in  a 
great  huriy. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Go  on  to  the  hives  and  you'll  see,"  said  she, 
"  and  I  hope  it  will  be  a  lesson  to  you." 

Young  Bumble-bee  flew  on,  joining  Miss  Wasp 
as  he  went,  and  they  sat  down  on  a  hollyhock 
close  by,  where,  by  just  leaning  forward  a  little, 
both  hives  could  be  plainly  seen.  There  lay  his 
old  friend,  the  drone,  on  his  back,  just  expiring, 
and  all  about  other  drones,  some  dead  and  some 
dying,  were  scattered  before  the  doors. 

"  What  does  it  mean  ?  "  said  Young  Bumble- 
bee, turning  quite  pale.  "  Is  it  the  cholera  ?  I 
don't  feel  at  all  well.     I  must  go  home." 

"  Nonsense !  "  said  Miss  Wasp.  "  No  cholera 
at  all.  It's  the  season  for  killing  the  drones, 
that's  all.  You  don't  seem  to  know  anything 
about  your  own  relations.  Don't  you  know  that 
they  make  a  regular  business  of  killing  off  the 
drones,  because  they  won't  work  ?  " 

"  Because  they  won't  work,"  repeated  Bum- 
ble-bee, shaking.  "  I  never  heard  of  such  a 
thing.     Let's  go  somewhere  else." 

"  Come  with  me,"  said  Miss  Wasp.  "  I  know 
where  there  are  some  strawberries  in  sugar.  I 
saw  two  jars  put  on  a  table  to  cool  a  little  while 
ago.     Better  than  honey." 


THE  BUMBLE-BEE  STORY.  57 

Young  Bumble-bee  flew  on  with  her,  and  sat 
down  on  the  window-sill,  while  Miss  Wasp  lit  on 
the  edge  of  a  jar  which  was  still  open.  "  Deli- 
cious !  "  she  was  saying,  when  into  the  room  came 
a  little  girl ;  a  very  little  girl,  hardly  three  years 
old,  who  knew  as  much  about  the  strawberries  as 
Miss  Wasp,  and  went  straight  to  them.  Bumble- 
bee was  not  hungry,  —  he  was  too  frightened  to 
be  hungry,  —  so  he  sat  still  and  watched  the  little 
girl,  who  wore  a  gingham  apron  to  keep  her 
dress  clean,  and  had  on  stockings,  striped  blue 
and  white. 

"  Such  stockings !  "  said  Bumble-bee,  who  had 
seen  her  before ;  "  beautiful  stockings  !  Why 
can't  I  be  a  little  girl  and  wear  stockino-s  ?  "   • 

Up  to  the  table  the  little  girl  walked,  and  put 
her  small  pointed  finger  right  into  the  jar,  and 
after  her  came  a  woman,  who  pulled  the  finger 
out,  faster  than  it  had  gone  in. 

"  Can't  trust  you  out  o'  my  sight  a  minute," 
she  said.  "  You'd  a-made  yourself  sick  eating 
preserves,  next  thing." 

"  Nice  fly,  eat  lots,"  the  little  girl  said,  point- 
ing to  Miss  Wasp,  who  still  sat  on  the  edge  of 
the  jar. 

"  Nice  fly !  Goodness  me  !  "  said  the  woman. 
"  Next  thing  you'll  be  picking  that  up.  It's  a 
wasp,  and    stings  awful,"  and  she  fluttered  her 


58  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

apron,  and  knocked  Miss  Wasp  to  the  floor,  where 
she  at  once  stepped  on  her. 

"  Dear,  dear !  "  said  young  Bumble-bee,  flying 
away  fast  as  he  could.  "  It  does  seem  as  if  every- 
thing were  going  to  destruction,"  and  he  sat 
down  in  a  red  hollyhock,  and  wiped  his  face, 
which  felt  very  hot.  In  the  heart  of  the  holly- 
hock a  drop  of  dew  still  lay,  and  three  of  Young 
Bumble-bee's  feet  slipped  in  it  as  he  sat  down. 

"  There,"  he  said  peevishly,  flirting  off"  the 
water.  "  If  I  had  had  stockings  on,  that  couldn't 
have  happened,"  and  he  flew  home  to  talk  to  his 
mother  about  it.  She  was  not  there,  and  he  sat 
down  on  the  chickweed  and  looked  at  a  hairy 
caterpillar,  which  had  rolled  itself  into  a  ball, 
when  a  black  spider  went  by. 

"  Now  she  can't  be  wet  by  anything,"  said  he, 
"  and  there  are  the  beetles,  too  ;  might  be  rained 
on  a  year,  and  their  backs  would  shed  every 
drop,  and  here  I  am,  with  such  delicate  feet,  that 
the  least  wetting  gives  me  a  cold,  and  motlier's 
just  the  same.  Sneezing  half  the  time,  because 
she  will  go  out  so  early  in  the  morning,  that  she's 
soaked  with  dew  every  day.  Why  don't  we 
have  stockings  ?  " 

"What  are  you  sulking  about  now?"  said 
Mrs.  Ant,  stopping  a  moment  to  rest,  as  she 
lugged  along  a  fly's  hind  quarter. 


THE  BUMBLE-BEE  STORY.  59 

"  I'm  not  sulking,"  said  Young  Bumble-bee. 
"  I'm  thinking  I'm  wishing  1  had  some  stockings, 
and  then  I  think  I  might  go  to  work  and  make 
me  a  house  without  dying  of  hasty  consumption 
while  I  was  about  it." 

"  Well,  did  I  ever !  "  said  Mrs.  Ant.  "  What'll 
get  into  your  head  next  ?  You'd  better  talk  to 
your  mother ;  I'm  too  busy,"  and  she  tugged  on. 

Young  Bumble-bee  did  talk  to  his  mother,  till 
she  grew  tired  of  the  sound  of  his  voice  ;  but  not 
a  word  about  stockings  could  she  tell  him,  though 
all  the  day  long  she  tried  to  think  how  some 
could  be  made.  Young  Bumble-bee  thought 
too,  and  went  about  among  his  relations  asking 
questions,  till  the  Mason-bee  cut  him  altogether  ; 
the  Carpenter-bee  slammed  the  door  in  his  face  ; 
and  the  oldest  Honey-bee  said  she  was  tired  out 
with  advising  him,  and  if  he  was  not  content  to 
be  as  he  had  been  made,  he  might  better  go  and 
live  with  the  hornets  or  the  wasps. 

So  day  after  day  he  wondered  how  he  should 
manage,  and  grew  so  thin  with  thinking  and 
scolding,  that  his  poor  mother  was  almost  worn 
out  worrying  over  him,  and  had  to  make  a  dozen 
new  pansy-leaf  pocket-handkerchiefs,  because  she 
had  cried  the  old  ones  all  to  pieces.  She  brought 
honey  from  the  sweetest  clover  tops  in  the  coun- 
try, but  he  hardly  tasted  it.     He  sat  in  the  door, 


60  THE  AINSLER  STORIES. 

with  his  head  down,  till  every  bug,  and  worm, 
and  fly  that  came  near,  said,  "  He's  got  some- 
tliing  on  his  mind ;  "  and  the  burying-beetles 
whispered  together  tliat  his  time  would  soon 
come,  and  even  went  so  far  as  to  look  out  the 
best  spot  to  put  him  in,  in  case  he  committed 
suicide. 

Well,  one  morning,  crawling  out  of  the  door,  he 
found  the  sun  shining  so  gloriously,  that  to  save  his 
life  he  couldn't  help  being  a  little  cheered  by  it. 
So  he  flew  along  slowly  and  feebly  till  he  reached 
the  fence,  and  then  sat  down  to  rest.  Here,  be- 
tween the  rails,  were  two  large  spider-Avebs,  one 
on  each  side  the  post,  into  the  holes  in  which  the 
spiders  ran,  if  they  wanted  to  be  out  of  sight,  or 
if  it  rained.  In  one  web  lived  a  black  spider, 
who  had  two  bags  of  eggs  under  her  care,  which 
she  watched  every  moment  when  she  was  not 
catching  flies,  and  in  the  other  lived  a  great 
black  and  yellow  one,  like  the  one  you  caught 
the  other  day,  and  which  you  thought  was  a 
TaraHtula,  though  you  know  now  that  it  was  not, 
but  only  second  or  third  cousin  to  it. 

Mrs.  Tarantula,  we  will  call  her,  was  strong 
enough  to  tie  up  the  biggest  hornet,  or  even 
bumble-bee,  that  got  into  the  web,  and  kept  some 
of  her  eyes  on  Young  Bumble-bee,  as  he  sat  there 
half  asleep.     Mrs.  Black-spider  would  have  eaten 


THE  BUMBLE-BEE  STORY.  61 

him  too,  fast  enough,  I  dare  say,  just  as  fast  as 
Mrs.  Tarantula,  probably,  but  she  dreaded  to  see 
anything  bigger  than  a  blue-bottle  fly  in  her  web, 
because  before  they  were  well  tied,  they  were 
sure  to  tear  it  to  pieces  trying  to  get  away.  So 
she  said,  "  Good  morning,"  very  politely,  and 
then  went  on,  rolling  up  half  a  fly  in  a  bit  of  web, 
and  tucking  it  away  in  the  post-hole  for  future 
eating.  , 

"  I  think  I  will  clear  out  my  pantry,"  she 
said.  "  I  can't  have  such  a  stack  of  bags  lying 
round,"  and  she  walked  into  a  dark  corner,  and 
presently  tumbled  out  two  or  three  of  the  bits 
of  web,  in  which  flies  had  been.  Bumble-bee 
looked  on,  half  stupidly  at  first,  and  then  such  a 
thought  came  into  his  head,  that  he  spread  his 
wings  and  buzzed  louder  than  he  had  for  a 
month. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Spider,  step- 
ping out.  "  For  mercy's  sake  don't  get  into  the 
web.     You'll  have  it  all  to  pieces  !  " 

Young  Bumble-bee  flew  down  to  the  grass 
where  the  bags  lay,  and  now,  slipping  one  leg  in, 
found  that  though  it  wouldn't  stay  in  when  lifted, 
yet  that  here  at  last  were  the  stockings  he  had 
pined  for  so  long,  soft  as  could  be,  and  a  delicate 
gray,  which  set  off"  the  shining  black  of  his  legs 
to  great  advantage. 


62  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

"  You  don't  want  to  use  them,  I  know,"  he 
said,  "  so  you  will  let  me  have  them,  Mrs.  Spider, 
won't  you  ?  " 

"  Why  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Spider,  laughing  so 
she  nearly  fell  off  the  post,  and  saying  to  herself, 
"  Did  I  ever  hear  of  such  a  fool  ?  " 

"  Then  you  must  help  me  tie  them  on,"  said 
Young  Bumble-bee,  "  for  they  won't  stay  a 
minute."  • 

"  Very  well,"  said  Mrs.  Spider,  thinking  to  her- 
self what  fun  it  would  be  to  go  after  him  if  only  she 
had  wings,  and  hear  what  would  be  said  about 
him.  So  she  crawled  down  the  post,  and  as  fast 
as  Bumble-bee  got  a  leg  safely  into  one  of  the 
bags,  spun  enough  silk  to  tie  it  tight  around  his 
knee,  till  five  legs  were  in  five  bags,  and  Bumble- 
bee said  he  wouldn't  do  any  more  that  day,  but 
come  again  to-morrow. 

All  Bug  Land  turned  out  as  he  flew  up  to  the 
Carpenter-bee's  house,  for  such  a  thing  had  never 
been  seen.  Even  the  mole  heard  the  scurry- 
ing overhead,  and  put  up  one  eye,  and  then  drew 
it  in  again,  knowing  that,  even  if  he  looked  all 
day,  he  could  see  nothing.  Every  ant  on  the 
way  to  pasture,  stood  still  and  stared.  The 
squash-bugs  stopped  eating  up  the  squash-vines  ; 
the  rose-bugs  flew  after  him  fast  as  they  could, 
and  every  miller  and  fly  followed. 


THE  BUMBLE-BEE   STORY.  63 

"  This  is  very  fine,"  said  Young  Bumble-bee. 
"  If  only  it  did  not  tire  my  legs  so  ;  but  one  must 
always  suffer  a  little  who  rises  above  the  common 
level  of  things,"  and  he  settled  on  the  Hollyhock, 
half  dead  with  fatigue. 

"  Don't  come  here,"  said  the  Hollyhock,  giving 
a  flirt,  which  tumbled  him  out.  "  I  won't  be 
trodden  on  by  such  legs." 

"  Get  away  from  me !  "  shouted  the  Four- 
o'clock,  shutting  up  fast  as  it  could. 

The  ants  laughed,  and  the  Speckled  Caterpillar, 
walking  up  a  tomato-vine,  said,  "  You'd  better 
go  home.  I  heard-the  Tiger-moth  say  such  silly 
doings  were  not  to  go  on  in  Bug  Land.  If  you 
stay  here  there'll  be  a  mob." 

"Stuff!"  said  Young  Bumble-bee.  "It  is  a 
free  country.  I  am  a  benefactor.  I  have  found 
out,  not  only  the  only  road  to  health,  but  the 
reason  why  spiders  were  made.  As  soon  as  I  am 
rested,  I  am  going  to  call  on  every  bee  I  know, 
and  ask  them  to  form  a  society  for  encouraging 
the  making  of  spider-web  stockings.  Before  you' 
are  in  a  cocoon,  Mrs.  Caterpillar,  you  will  see 
every  Bumble-bee  doing  what  I  have  done,  and 
my  memory  will  live  forever." 

"  Fiddlesticks  !  "  said  Mrs.  Caterpillar,  and 
Bumble-bee  flew  down  to  the  meadow,  and  went 
home.     His  mother  cried  harder,  when  she  saw 


64  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

the  stockings,  than  she  ever  had  before,  and 
Bnmblo-l)ce,  who  was  dreadfully  tired,  tried  to 
take  them  off  before  ffoing  to  bed.  They  wouldn't 
come  off  though,  for  Mrs.  Spider  had  fastened 
them  on  so  tiglit,  that  they  never  could,  unless 
his  legs  came  off  too.  So  he  went  to  bed,  but 
couldn't  lie  down  comfortably,  you  know,  and  had 
cramps  all  night.  He  was  too  tired  to  fly  about 
next  day  as  he  had  intended,  and  the  next  night 
begged  his  mother  to  help  him  get  out  of  them. 
No  use.  The  Carpenter-bee  called,  when  he 
heard  of  the  trouble,  and  got  off  part  of  one ;  but 
he  could  not  cut  the  cord  which  tied  the  stocking 
on,  without  cutting  the  leg  too,  and  he  did  not 
dare  to  try.  He  came  again  next  day,  and  got 
off  part  of  another,  and  then  Mrs.  Bumble-bee 
went  to  Mrs.  Spider,  and  begged  her  to  come 
and  help  them. 

"  I  can't,"  said  Mrs.  Spider.  "  I'm  sorry  for 
you  ;  but  I  never  undo  any  work  once  done." 

Mrs.  Bumble-bee  went  home  crying,  but  that 
could  not  help  Young  Bumble-bee.  He  grew 
weaker  and  w^eaker,  and  at  last,  when  the  black 
cricket  looked  in,  in  the  afternoon,  to  ask  if  she 
could  do  anything,  poor  Bumble-bee  had  stopped 
breathing,  and  the  burying-beetles  were  already 
at  the  door. 

Mrs.  Bumble-bee  was  sorry,  but  nobody  else 


THE  BUMBLE-BEE  STORY.  65 

cared  very  much,  because  he  had  never  done 
anything  but  have  his  own  way.  So  he  died,  and 
even  now  the  ants,  who  are  still  living  next  door, 
tell  their  children  the  story  when  the  day's  work 
is  done.  The  black  cricket  sings  a  song  about  it, 
and  Grandfather  Longlegs  has  written  it  down, 
with  all  the  other  wonderful  things  he  knows ; 
and  told  me  the  other  day,  as  he  ran  down  my  leg, 
that  if  he  lived  long  enough  to  find  the  right  sort 
of  Editor,  he  should  publish  a  big  book,  all  about 
everything. 


VT. 

HAYING   TIME. 

"  Where's  Ainslee  ?  "  said  Grandma  Walton, 
coming  out  from  the  bedroom  with  her  hymn- 
book  and  a  sprig  of  fennel  in  her  hand.  "  The 
first  bell's  ringino;,  and  I'm  sure  I  heard  his  voice 
down  in  the  garden.  Why  ain't  he  ready  for 
church?" 

"  Do  you  think  it  a  good  plan  for  so  small  a 
boy  to  go,  mother  ?  "  said  Mr.  Barton,  Ainslee's 
father,  who  came  up  from  the  city  every  Saturday 
to  stay  over  Sunday. 

"  Small  boy  !  "  said  grandma.  "  Why,  he's  most 
five  years  old.  His  mother  began  to  go  when 
she  wasn't  three,  and  his  Uncle  Ainslee,  too. 
You'll  spoil  that  child  with  your  notions  ;  and  how 
will  he  learn  to  respect  the  Sabbath  if  he  ain't 
taught  when  he's  young  ?  " 

"  I  doubt  if  taking  him  to  church  twice  on 
Sunday  will  do  that,"  said  Mr.  Barton.  "  We 
try  to  make  the  day  a  very  pleasant  one,  so  that 
he  may  have  only  happy  ideas  of  it  to  look  back 
upon.    His  mother  always  teaches  him  some  little 


HAYING  TIME.  67 

hymn  or  sweet  Bible  verse,  and  he  is  very  much 
interested  in  Bible  stories,  so  that  I'm  inclined  to 
think  he  will  be  glad  to  go  of  his  own  free-will 
when  he  is  older." 

*'  Well !  "  said  grandma,  shaking  her  head, 
"  every  one  to  his  notion  ;  yours  ain't  mine." 

At  this  moment  Ainslee,  holding  his  mother's 
hand,  came  in,  his  blue  eyes  shining  and  his 
cheeks  very  red. 

"  Grandma,"  said  he,  "  my  sweet  pea  corned 
up  on  top  of  a  stem,  an'  mother  says  that's  the 
right  way,  an'  I  mustn't  put  it  back  again,  for 
I  was  a-going  to,  and  my  bean  did  just  like  it. 
Where  you  going  ?  " 

"  To  church,"  said  grandma,  "  where  a  boy 
like  you  ought  to  be  going  too,  and  not  rampag- 
ing round  the  whole  o'  Sunday." 

"  Get  him  ready,  mamma,"  said  Mr.  Barton, 
"  and  we'll  take  him  this  morning.  Will  you  be 
very  good,  Ainslee  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Ainslee,  as  he  trotted  off  with 
mamma,  quite  pleased  with  the  prospect. 

"  I  shall  ride  with  grandma  and  Uncle  Ainslee," 
said  his  mother,  "  and  you  and  father  will  walk, 
because  the  buggy  will  not  hold  all  of  us,  and  the 
rockaway  broke  down  yesterday,  you  know,  when 
they  took  John  and  Lizzie  to  the  depot.  You 
must  try  and  sit  very  still  through  the  sermon, 


68  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

even  if  you  do  get  a  little  tired,  and  this  afternoon 
I  will  tell  you  all  about  Noah  and  his  dove." 

All  this  time  mamma  was  unbuttoning  and  but- 
toning  ever  so  many  buttons,  while  nurse  held 
the  baby,  who  crowed  and  squealed  at  Ainslee, 
and  at  last,  getting  near  enough,  caught  at  a  curl 
and  pulled  till  he  was  quite  red  in  the  face. 

"  What  a  baby  !  "  said  Ainslee  ;  "  he  don't 
know  enough  to  sit  still  in  church  —  does  he, 
mamma  ?  " 

"  I  guess  not,"  said  mother ;  and  Ainslee,  being 
all  ready,  started  down -stairs,  holding  his  little 
straw  hat  and  looking  very  fresh  and  sweet. 
Grandma  gave  him  a  great  kiss  as  they  went 
into  the  sitting-room. 

"  Pretty  is  that  pretty  does,"  said  she  ;  "  you 
be  a  good  boy  now,  Ainslee." 

Mr.  Barton  stood  on  the  piazza  waiting  for 
him  ;  he  was  so  tall  and  Ainslee  so  short  and  fat 
that  there  was  difficulty  in  keeping  up  with  him, 
and  Ainslee,  after  holding  on  hard  to  his  father's 
middle  finger,  and  taking  a  good  many  little  steps 
to  one  of  his  long  ones,  decided  to  let  go  and  only 
hold  on  to  his  coat-tail  if  any  danger  came  up. 
So  they  went  on  together  over  the  beautiful 
country  road.  The  day  was  hot,  but  rain  had 
fallen  the  night  before  ;  so  there  was  no  dust, 
and  the  road  was  shaded  by  great  elms  and  ma- 


HAYING  TIME.  69 

pies.  By  and  by  grandma  and  mamma  passed 
them,  driving  slowly. 

"  Hurry  along,"  said  grandma. 

"  Plenty  of  time,"  answered  Mr.  Barton  ;  "  it's 
only  ten  now,  and  we  shall  be  there  in  twenty 
minutes  or  so." 

The  little  white  church  was  on  the  other  side 
of  the  river,  which  was  crossed  by  a  covered 
bridge.  Ainslee  put  his  feet  down  hard  as  they 
walked  through  it. 

"  It  sounds  like  a  drum,"  said  he,  as  a  wagon 
passed  them.  "  I  wish  we  were  going  to  stay  here 
and  stamp  instead  of  going  to  church.  No,  I 
don't,  either,  'cause  mamma  said  there  was  a  little 
brook  ran  all  along  by  the  road  after  we  got  out 
of  the  bridge  ;  let's  hurry  ! 

If  Ainslee  had  been  a  little  older,  he  would 
have  stopped  as  they  came  out  into  daylight,  and 
looked  down  the  lovely  winding  river,  and  at  the 
village  under  the  shadow  of  the  great  mountain. 
The  road  gradually  ascended  as  they  left  the 
bridge  ;  groves  of  maples  were  on  one  side,  —  su- 
gar-bushes, as  the  farmers  called  them,  —  and  on 
the  other  a  brook  ran  down  and  emptied  into  the 
river.  It  was  a  noisy  brook  there,  rushing  into 
the  smooth  water  over  stones  and  rocks  as  if  in 
great  hurry  to  get  somewhere  else  as  fast  as  pos- 
sible ;  but  it  grew  more  quiet  as  they  walked  on, 


70  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

bubbling  over  little  white  pebbles,  and  gleaming 
around  wee  fishes  who  swam  busily  about. 

By  and  by,  at  the  very  foot  of  the  hill  on  which 
the  church  stood,  they  came  to  a  little  foot-bridge 
which  crossed  it.  There  the  brook  widened 
ao-ain,  and  then  turned  off  into  some  woods. 
Two  great  oaks  stood  over  it ;  there  was  a  line 
of  stepping-stones,  not  so  far  apart  but  what  even 
Ainslee's  little  legs  could  get  from  one  to  the 
other,  and  here  were  whole  crowds  of  shiners. 

"  O  papa,"  said  Ainslee,  "  do  please  go  on  to 
the  stones." 

Papa  was  quite  ready  for  it  himself,  and  Ains- 
lee stopped  on  the  middle  one  and  looked  at  the 
fish,  and  then  up  and  down  the  brook. 

"  It's  the  beautifullest  place  that  ever  was," 
said  he.  "  Why  can't  we  live  here  all  the  time, 
papa  ( 

"  We  can  live  here  every  summer,"  said  his 
father.  "  Perhaps  I  shall  leave  you  here  some 
Avinter  with  mamma  and  baby  if  I  have  to  go 
away.  Come  now,  or  we  really  shall  be  late ; 
don't  you  hear  the  bell  tolling?  " 

Only  a  little  further  up  the  hill  and  there  was 
the  church.  Mamma  was  standing  with  Uncle 
Ainslee  on  the  church-steps,  talking  to  a  very  old 
man.  Ainslee  saw  some  people  in  the  pews,  but 
ever  so  many  seemed  to  be  outside,  waiting  for  the 


HAYING  TIME.  71 

bell  to  stop  ringing.  Papa  spoke  to  the  old  man 
too,  and  then  all  went  into  the  church  together. 
Ainslee  had  never  seen  anything  like  it.  The 
pews  were  all  square,  with  such  high  backs  —  he 
couldn't  see  anything  at  all  when  he  was  sitting 
down,  but  the  crowns  of  the  bonnets  in  front. 
He  was  right  opposite  grandma,  and  kept  won- 
dering how  long  it  would  take  her  to  bite  every 
seed  off  her  sprig  of  fennel. 

Pretty  soon  the  bell  stopped. 

Ainslee  stood  up  on  the  seat  and  watched  the 
people  come  in.  Then  the  minister  stood  up,  and 
when  he  had  read  a  hymn,  everybody  turned 
round  and  looked  up  to  the  gallery  where  a  large 
man  played  the  bass-viol,  and  another  man  a 
flute,  and  all  the  choir  sung  a  tune  called  Dundee. 
Ainslee  knew  it  was  Dundee,  because  grandpa 
had  asked  mamma  to  sing  it  the  evening  before, 
and  papa  and  Uncle  Ainslee  had  both  joined  in. 

He  listened  to  the  chapter  which  the  minister 
read,  for  it  was  about  the  ravens  which  fed  Elijah, 
and  he  came  very  near  singing,  —  "  Where,  oh 
where  is  the  good  Elijah  ?  "  —  one  verse  of  a  hymn 
which  he  had  heard  in  Sunday-school  at  home. 

Then  came  the  long  prayer :  Ainslee  stood  up 
by  his  father  and  stretched  his  small  neck,  trying 
to  see  the  minister,  who  prayed  in  a  very  loud 
voice,  and  then  they  sung  another  hymn  and  the 


72  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

sermon  began.  Ainslee  expected  to  hear  some 
more  about  Elijah,  and  Hstened  very  quietly  for 
a  time,  but  not  a  word  could  he  understand. 

"  He's  preaching  to  the  big  people,"  thought 
he  ;  "  I  ain't  going  to  look  at  him  any  more." 

Grandma  gave  him  a  fennel  seed  and  he  ate  it ; 
then  he  stared  up  at  the  high  pulpit  and  won- 
dered if  the  minister  wasn't  afraid  to  stay  in  it, 
and  why  the  white  board  over  it  was  put  there. 

It  was  getting  very  hot  and  uncomfortable. 
The  sun  shone  in  right  on  his  head,  for  their  pew 
was  by  a  window,  though  grandma  and  mamma 
sat  by  it,  so  that  he  could  not  climb  up  to  look 
out.  All  at  once,  hang  fell  a  book  from  the  gal- 
lery. Ainslee  stood  up  on  the  seat  to  see  what 
it  meant.  There  was  Sinny  in  the  gallery  look- 
ing guilty,  and  Ainslee  laughed  aloud,  he  was  so 
pleased  to  see  him.  Then  he  remembered  where 
he  was  and  sat  down  with  such  a  red  face  that 
papa  coughed  and  mamma  put  her  handkerchief  to 
her  mouth. 

Ainslee  hardly  stirred  till  church  was  out,  and 
he  held  his  mother's  hand  tight  when  he  found 
himself  again  in  the  open  air. 

"  What  made  you  laugh  ?  "  said  grandma. 

"  'Cause  I  sawed  Sinny,"  said  Ainslee. 

"  Why  wasn't  you  listening  to  the  minister  ?  " 
said  grandma  severely. 


HAYING  TIME.  73 

"  'Cause  he  wasn't  sayin'  anything  I  knew 
about,"  answered  Ainslee.  "  He  kept  a  hollerin' 
at  God,  and  I  got  tired  hearing  him." 

Grandma  would  have  said  something  more,  but 
mamma  took  his  hand. 

"  Papa  will  drive  grandma  home,"  said  she, 
"  and  we  will  walk,  I  think,  with  Uncle  Ainslee." 

All  the  way  home  they  were  talking  of  old 
times,  and  Ainslee  found  that  his  mother,  when 
a  little  girl,  had  walked  over  stepping-stones  in 
that  very  brook,  on  her  way  to  the  same  church, 
and  that  once  Uncle  Ainslee  had  waded  with  her 
on  his  back,  away  down  to  a  deep  pool  under  a 
great  pine-tree,  and  then  sat  on  the  bank  to  watch 
for  a  big  trout  that  was  said  to  live  there.  Ains- 
lee was  so  interested  that  the  walk  seemed  very 
short,  and  when  they  reached  home  he  was  as- 
tonished to  find  it  after  one  o'clock.  He  ate  some 
lunch,  and  then  went  up-stairs  with  mamma,  who 
told  him  about  Noah  and  his  dove,  and  showed 
him  a  beautiful  picture  of  the  dove  with  the  olive- 
leaf  in  his  mouth,  flying  over  the  dark  water. 

"  Do  you  s'pose  Noah  found  the  dove  again 
when  he  went  down  the  hill  ?  "  said  Ainslee. 

"  I  think  very  likely  he  did,"  said  his  mother; 
"  the  dove  would  remember  him,  and  come  where 
he  was,  perhaps.  At  any  rate  we  know  it  found 
a  tree  to  rest  on,  and  I  dare  say  it  built  a  nest 
and  had  dear  little  doves  in  it." 


74  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

"  Are  grandpa's  doves  any  relation  to  Noah's  ?  " 
asked  Ainslee. 

His  mother  laughed,  and  just  then  they  were 
all  called  to  dinner,  and  Ainslee  went  down  very 
hungry. 

]\Iamma's  parlor-organ  had  been  brought  up 
from  the  city,  and  after  dinner  she  played  and 
sung  sweet  old  hymns,  with  papa  and  Uncle 
Ainslee.  They  ended  with  "  Shining  Shore," 
and  Ainslee  sang  it  with  them  very  loud.  It  was 
bed-time  now,  and  when  he  kissed  grandma  he 
said,  —  "I  didn't  go  to  laugh,  grandma,  but  I 
could  n't  help  it  when  I  sawed  Sinny.  I'll  be  real 
good  next  Sunday." 

Grandma  smiled  a  little  when  he  had  left  the 
room.  "  I  guess  he'd  better  go  to  Mr.  Parker's 
church,  down  to  the  village,"  said  she  ;  "  they 
say  he  interests  everybody,  children  and  grown 
folks  too." 

Next  morning  when  Ainslee  was  being  dressed 
he  heard  a  curious  ringing  sound  from  the  meadows. 

"  What's  that  ?  "  said  he. 

"  It's  mowers,"  answered  nurse ;  "  they're 
sharpening  their  scythes." 

Ainslee  ran  to  the  window  and  looked  out. 
There  were  three  men  in  grandpa's  meadow ;  two 
were  mowing,  and  one  stood  resting  his  scythe 


HAYING  TIME.  75 

on  the  ground  and  rubbing  a  whetstone  back  and 
forth  on  the  blade. 

"  My !  "  said  Ainslee,  "  I  want  to  go  there." 

"  That  would  never  do,"  said  his  mother,  who 
had  just  come  in  ;  "a  hay-field,  while  they  are 
mowing,  is  a  dangerous  place  for  little  boys  ;  their 
legs  might  be  almost  cut  off,  if  they  went  near 
those  great  sweeping  knives.  When  the  hay  is 
cut  and  drying,  I  dare  say  grandpa  will  let  you 
play  in  it  as  much  as  you  please,  and  Tom  will 
give  you  a  ride  home  on  the  hay-wagon." 

"  That's  good,"  said  Ainslee  ;  "  only  I  wanted 
to  cut  some  hay  myself." 

"  Wait  till  you  are  larger,"  said  his  mother ; 
"  your  little  fat  arms  couldn't  hold  a  scythe  very 
long." 

Sinny  was  by  the  back-door  before  Ainslee  had 
finished  his  breakfast,  and  grandma  coming  out 
found  him  on  the  step. 

"  Don't  you  get  into  any  more  mischief  with 
Ainslee,"  said  she  ;  "  you  play  right  round  where 
some  of  us  can  see  you  all  the  time." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Sinny,  and  then  Ainslee 
came  out. 

"Let's  go  stand  on  the  fence  and  see  'em  mow," 
said  he  ;  and  they  started  down  to  the  meadow, 
and  climbing  to  the  top  of  the  fence,  each  sat  on 
a  post  and  looked  over. 


76  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

"  You  can't  mow  —  can  you,  Sinny  ?  "  said 
Ainslee. 

"  Never  tried,"  said  Sinny  ;  "  guess  I'm  too 
short  —  grandfather  can.  He's  a-mowing  the 
big  field  to-day.  There's  a  sickle  up  in  our 
barn.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  I  could  mow  with 
that." 

"  What 's  a  sickle  ?  "  said  Ainslee. 

"  O  you  gump  !  "  said  Sinny.  "  It's  like  a 
scythe,  only  it's  kinder  round." 

"  Let's  get  it,"  said  Ainslee,  "  and  mow  grand- 
ma's bleaching  ground  ;  the  grass  is  dreadful 
high." 

"  Come  along  then,"  said  Sinny ;  and  they 
started  up  to  his  grandfather's  barn. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  any  story  about  a  squir- 
rel, Sinny  ?  "  said  Ainslee. 

"  No,"  said  Sinny  ;  "  I  shouldn't  think  there 
was  any  stories  about  'em." 

"  But  there  are,"  said  Ainslee  ;  "Uncle  Ains- 
lee told  us  a  beautiful  one.     I'll  tell  it  to  you." 

So  sitting  down  on  a  stone  by  the  road  and 
forgetting  their  errand  entirely,  Ainslee  told  all 
that  he  could  remember  of  the  squirrel  story. 
Sinny  was  very  serious  when  it  ended,  and 
seemed  half  a  mind  to  cry.  "  Let's  hunt  for  the 
tree,"  said  he.  "  I'd  like  to  find  where  they 
buried  'em." 


HAYING  TIME.  77 

"  Well,"  said  Ainslee,  "  when  we've  done  the 
mowing,  we  will.  Let's  go  for  the  sickle  this 
minute." 

Sinny  scrambled  upon  a  pile  of  boards  to 
reach  it  and  handed  it  down  to  Ainslee.  "  Grand- 
father sharpened  it  the  other  day,"  said  he,  "  so 
you  look  out  and  not  cut  you." 

"We  ought  both  to  mow  at  a  time,"  said 
Ainslee ;  "  there's  three  men  mowing  at  grand- 
pa's :  ain't  you  got  another  sickle  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Sinny,  "  not  one  ;  you  can  take  a 
knife,  'cause  you  ain't  used  to  mowing." 

"  I'll  get  grandma's  carving-knife,"  said  Ains- 
lee ;  "  that  gets  sharpened  every  day." 

There  was  nobody  in  the  dining-room  when 
the  children  got  down  to  Grandpa  Walton's. 
Ainslee  took  the  big  knife  from  the  knife-drawer, 
and  ran  round  to  the  bleaching-ground  behind 
the  wood-house  where  Sinny  was  waiting  for 
him,  and  where  he  had  already  cut  quite  a  little 
pile  of  grass.  Sinny  was  barefoot,  and  kicked 
the  grass  aside  with  his  little  black  toes. 

"  The  grass  feels  good  —  don't  it  ?  "  said 
Ainslee.  "  I'm  a-going  to  take  off  my  shoes, 
so's  to  kick  it  too." 

So  Ainslee  pulled  off  his  shoes  after  much 
trouble  ;  but  concluded  to  leave  on  his  stockings, 
as  his  mother  had  told  him  he  must  not  go  bare- 


(8  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

foot,  and  then  he  began  to  work  with  his  knife, 
Avhicli  made  small  headway  compared  with  the 
sharp  sickle.  "  Let  me  have  the  sickle,  Sinny," 
said  he. 

"  I  don't  want  to,"  said  Sinny  ;  "  I  want  to 
get  a  lot." 

"  I  think  you  might,"  said  Ainslee,  after  try- 
ing again. 

"Well,  I  will  a  minute,"  said  Sinny;  "give 
it  right  back  though." 

Ainslee  succeeded  so  well  that  he  was  not  at 
all  willing  to  give  it  up  when  Sinny  claimed  it. 
"I'm  a-going  to  keep  it,"  said  he:  "you  take 
the  knife." 

"  But  I  ain't  a-going  to,"  said  Sinny  ;  "  you 
give  me  my  sickle." 

"  'Tisn't  yours  —  it's  your  grandfather's," 
said  Ainslee,  "  an'  you  haven't  any  business  to 
have  it."  Sinny  reflected.  "  He  ain't  your 
grandfather,  any  way,"  said  he ;  "  and  I  will 
have  it  —  so  now." 

There  was  a  moment's  struggle ;  then  mamma 
looking  from  her  chamber-window  heard  a  scream, 
and  Sinny  came  running  up  to  the  house  and  be- 
gan to  cry.     Mamma  ran  out  to  Ainslee. 

In  the  dispute  the  sickle  had  fallen  and  he 
had  stepped  on  it  heavily.  His  stocking  was  cut 
through,  and  the  blood  streaming  from  his  foot. 


HAYING  TIME.  79 

Mamma  lifted  and  carried  him  to  the  porch. 
There  was  a  deep  cut  in  the  foot,  and  Uncle 
Ainslee,  coming  up,  found  mamma  very  pale. 

"  I  want  a  doctor  right  away,"  said  she.  "  I'm 
afraid  Ainslee's  foot  is  dreadfully  hurt." 

Uncle  Ainslee  looked  carefully  at  it.  "  No," 
said  he,  "  there's  no  serious  harm  done  ;  the  cut 
must  be  sewed,  though,  I  think,  for  it's  quite 
deep,  and  he  will  have  to  be  perfectly  quiet. 
He's  faint ;  let  me  take  him  up-stairs." 

Uncle  Ainslee  bound  his  handkerchief  tightly 
about  the  foot,  and  then,  after  carrying  Ains- 
lee up  to  his  own  bed,  went  quickly  for  the 
doctor. 

It  seemed  a  long  time  before  he  came  —  to 
mamma,  who  sat  waiting ;  and  Ainslee  felt  sick 
and  faint,  and  hardly  opened  his  eyes.  By  and 
by  a  carriage  stopped,  and  Uncle  Ainslee  and 
the  doctor  got  out  together  and  ran  up  the  stairs. 
It  hurt  Ainslee  when  the  handkerchief  was  un- 
rolled, but  Doctor  Marsh  was  very  gentle.  He 
looked  very  carefully  to  see  if  any  little  stone  or 
bit  of  dirt  had  worked  into  the  cut,  —  for  that^ 
he  said,  would  make  it  very  sore,  —  and  then, 
after  the  foot  was  washed,  he  bound  it  up  with 
nobody  could  tell  how  many  little  strips  of  plas- 
ter. Ainslee  felt  quite  comfortable  now,  and 
turned  very  red  when  the  doctor  said,  — 


80  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

"  How  did  this  happen,  Mrs.  Barton  ?  " 

*'  I  don't  know  at  all,"  said  mamma.  "  I'm 
afraid  Sinny  did  it  in  some  way.  Ainslee  mustn't 
play  with  him  any  more." 

"  O  mamma  !  "  said  Ainslee  ;  "  it  wasn't 
Sinny  at  all.  I  wouldn't  let  him  have  his  own 
sickle,  an'  I  dropped  it  and  then  I  stepped  on  it." 

"  What  were  you  doing  with  sickles  ? "  said 
Mrs.  Barton. 

"  There  wasn't  but  one,  mamma,"  said  Ains- 
lee ;  "  I  had  grandma's  carving-knife,  and  we 
was  mowing  the  bleaching-ground." 

"  Well,"  said  Doctor  Marsh,  laughing,  "  I 
shall  have  something  new  to  tell  my  patients  to- 
day. He  must  keep  perfectly  still,  Mrs.  Barton, 
for  a  week  at  least ;  by  that  time  he  can  walk 
again." 

Doctor  Marsh,  going  out,  found  Sinny  crying 
miserably  on  the  door-step. 

"  He  ain't  dead  —  is  he  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Oh  no,"  said  Doctor  Marsh,  "  but  he  might 
have  been.  You  must  never  play  in  such  a  way 
again." 

vSinny  caught  up  the  sickle  and  ran  up  the 
road.  Half  an  hour  later  his  mother  came  down 
and  asked  for  Mrs.  Barton. 

"  What  ever  I'm  to  do  with  that  Sinny  I  don't 
know,"  said  she.     "  I've  shut  him  up  and  told 


HAYING  TIME.  -  81 

him  he  wasn't  to  have   no  dinner  nor    supper. 
It's  a  mercy  both  of  'em  wasn't  killed." 

"  It  certainly  is,"  said  Mrs.  Barton ;  "  but 
Sinny  is  only  to  blame  for  having  the  sickle  in 
the  first  place,  and  I  hope  it  will  be  a  lesson  to 
them  both." 

Through  all  that  hot  week  in  July,  Ainslee 
lay  still  on  the  bed  or  sofa.  After  the  first  day 
he  begged  so  for  Sinny  that  at  last  mamma  sent 
for  him,  though  grandma  said  "  It  beat  all  natur' 
to  think  she  should." 

Uncle  Ainslee  taught  them  how  to  play  dom- 
inoes and  jack-straws,  but  the  third  day  Ains- 
lee wearied  of  them  and  every  other  play,  and 
begged  for  stories.  He  had  had  a  little  piece  of 
chicken  for  his  dinner,  and  it  had  been  the  wish- 
bone piece.  Nurse  had  dried  it  for  him  at  the 
kitchen  fire,  and  now  it  lay  on  the  bed  by  him. 

"  I  think  I'll  tell  you  a  story  about  a  wish- 
bone," said  Uncle  Ainslee.  Ainslee's  eyes 
brightened,  and  Sinny  smacked  his  lips  as  if 
somethino;  good  were  coming;.  Look  on  the 
next  page  and  you  will  find  out  whether  or  no 
they  were  disappointed. 
6 


VII. 

Betty's  wish-bone. 

Betty  swung  her  sun-bonnet  back  and  forth 
as  she  stood  in  the  door  of  the  queer  Httle  house, 
that  had  been  pelted  by  so  many  storms  nobody 
could  tell  whether  it  had  ever  been  painted  or 
not.  It  was  a  low  house,  with  a  roof  slanting 
crazily  down  at  the  back  almost  to  the  ground, 
and  all  green  with  moss.  Betty  had  climbed  up 
to  the  ridge-pole  when  quite  a  little  girl,  and  then 
tumbled  over  and  over  very  fast  indeed,  rolling 
right  down  into  a  feather-bed  which  her  mother 
had  put  out  to  air,  without  being  hurt  one  bit, 
save  some  scratches  on  her  fat  arms  and  neck. 
She  did  not  think  of  climbing  up  there  now,  for 
she  was  almost  nine  years  old,  and  knew  a  great 
deal  better  than  to  do  such  things.  In  fact,  she 
hardly  had  time  to  climb,  for  she  was  a  handy 
little  body,  and  Mrs.  Brown  could  hardly  have 
done  without  her. 

Betty's  mother  had  lived  alone  in  this  tumble- 
down house  ever  since  Betty  was  a  year  old.  In 
the  summer,  when  city  people  came  up  to  the 


.-  ',)  A  ^ 

/  S"    V  '' 

.\;-'  ^ 

■■<[ 

;3%^^>— ■.'■■-:    - 


She  <-f)ulcl  .•ittfiul    to   nothing  else  on   the  way  down,  for  the  roail   w:«i 
rough."  —  Sec  p.ige  83. 


BETTY'S   WISH-BONE.  83 

pretty  village  under  the  great  mountain,  she 
washed  and  ironed  all  the  day  long,  and  when 
the  beautiful  white  clothes  were  folded  and  laid 
in  the  long  basket,  Betty  drew  them  to  the  vil- 
lage on  a  queer  little  wagon,  which  was  nothing 
but  a  piece  of  board  with  four  wooden  wheels 
and  a  rope  for  a  handle.  She  could  attend  to 
nothing  else  on  the  way  down,  for  the  road  was 
rough,  and  a  careless  movement  would  have 
tipped  the  basket  over  at  once  ;  but  coming  home 
there  was  no  such  responsibility,  and  she  could 
run  by  the  brook  and  watch  the  little  fish  skim- 
ming along,  or  pick  flowers,  or  look  for  winter- 
green  berries. 

When  the  summer  ended,  and  there  were  no 
more  washing  and  ironing,  Mrs.  Brown  did 
coarse  sewing,  and  Betty  spent  many  hours  on  a 
little  stool  at  her  mother's  side,  sewing  over-hand 
seams  or  hemming  towels.  Work  as  they  would, 
cold  and  hunger  sometimes  pinched  them.  There 
was  no  father  to  come  home  at  night  with  the 
day's  wages  in  his  pocket,  and  often  Betty's 
mother  sat  till  late  into  the  night,  sewing  on 
some  garment,  the  price  of  which  was  to  give 
them  food  and  fuel  for  the  next  day.  It  was  a 
hard  life,  and  sometimes,  when  Mrs.  Brown 
looked  at  little  Betty  fast  asleep  on  the  back-side 
of  the  bed,  and  thought  of  her  growing  up  and 


84  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

working  steadily  just  for  life,  without  any  of  the 
briirht,  pleasant  times  that  come  to  other  chil- 
dren, tears  fell  very  fast  on  her  sewing,  and  she 
had  to  pray  very  earnestly  for  faith  and  patience. 

Often  now  she  talked  to  Betty  of  her  desire  to 
give  up  washing  and  buy  a  sewing-machine,  and 
told  her  how  she  could  then  do  more  work  in  an 
hour  or  two  than  she  accomplished  now  in  a 
whole  day.  Betty  listened  and  wished,  but 
where  was  the  money  to  come  from  ?  It  seemed 
useless  to  think  of  such  a  thing  for  one  moment, 
and  so  the  hard  work  went  on. 

This  day  Betty  was  to  carry  home  the  last 
washing  for  the  year,  and  the  long  basket  would 
be  trundled  back  and  put  away  in  the  garret  till 
another  season  began.  So  she  stood  in  the  door, 
swinging  her  sun-bonnet,  and  looking  out  to  the 
November  sky  which  seemed  very  cold  and  gray. 
Tightly  as  those  strings  were  sewed  on,  they 
certainly  would  have  come  off,  if  Betty's  mother, 
balancing  the  basket  on  the  shaky  wagon,  had 
not  seized  it,  tied  it  under  the  round  chin,  and 
started  her  little  girl  off  with  a  hug  and  a  kiss. 

Betty  pulled  her  load  along  slowly  through 
the  wood,  wondering,  as  she  went,  if  mother 
meant  to  buy  anything  for  a  Thanksgiving  din- 
ner. To-morrow  was  the  day  ;  she  knew  they 
would  go  to  church  in  the  morning,  and  in  the 


BETTY'S  WISH-BONE.  85 

afternoon  she  thought  she  should  take  her  rag- 
doll,  Amelia  Jane,  for  a  long  walk.  Perhaps 
mother  would  make  a  turn-over,  and  then  she 
could  have  a  tea-party  in  the  evening. 

Thinking  all  these  thoughts,  she  soon  reached 
the  village,  and  stopped  before  the  house  where 
the  boarders  had  been  all  summer.  Mrs.  Thomp- 
son was  in  the  kitchen,  and  Betty,  looking  in  as 
the  fat  Irish  girl  lifted  the  basket,  smelled  such 
a  delicious  smell,  and  saw  so  many  nice  things, 
that  it  was  almost  as  good  as  having  them. 

"  Come  in,  Betty  and  get  good  and  warm," 
said  Mrs.  Thompson,  and  fat  Biddy  jerked  her 
up  to  the  fire,  and  planted  her  on  a  stool. 
"  Shure  thin,  it's  in  goose-flesh  the  child's 
arums  is,"  said  she,  "  an'  howiver  she  pulls  along 
such  a  load  a  mile  an'  more,  I  can't  see." 

Betty  ivas  cold  and  tired,  and  there  was  a 
very  wistful  look  in  her  eyes  as  she  glanced  at 
and  then  turned  from,  the  long  table,  where  pies 
and  cakes  and  roast  chickens  were  spread  out 
in  such  array  as  she  had  never  seen  before. 

Mrs.  Thompson  looked  at  her.  "  How  hard  she 
always  has  had  to  work  !  "  she  thought ;  "  and 
yet  how  little  money  her  poor  mother  earns, 
after  all.  She  never  frets,  either.  I  wonder  if 
they've  got  anything  for  Thanksgiving.  They 
deserve  a  good  dinner  if  anybody  does." 


86  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

Mrs.  Thompson  was  very  busy  in  her  pantry 
for  some  minutes ;  and  when  the  clotlies  were 
taken  out,  and  the  basket  ready  to  go  home, 
Betty  saw  tliere  were  some  odd  bundles  in  one 
end,  and  that  Biddy  had  tied  it  down  firmly  to 
the  wagon. 

"  There's  something  in  the  basket  for  your 
mother,  Betty,"  said  Mrs.  Thompson  ;  "  don't 
touch  it  till  you  get  home." 

Betty  said  "  No,  ma'am,"  and  trotted  off 
briskly.  How  her  fingers  itched  to  lift  those 
papers  and  the  towel  and  see  what  lay  under- 
neath !  That  was  really  a  very  trying  mile,  but 
finally  the  last  step  was  taken,  and  she  dropped 
the  rope  handle  at  the  door,  and  flew  to  her 
mother  in  the  kitchen. 

"  O  mother,  mother  !  come  just  as  quick  as 
you  can  !  "  she  shouted ;  "  I  can't  wait  another 
minute  ;  "  and  she  pulled  her  astonished  mother 
to  the  open  door. 

Betty  thought  that  string  never  would  be 
untied,  and  when  the  basket  was  really  carried 
in  and  set  on  the  kitchen-table,  she  was  quite 
breathless  with  excitement. 

What  a  sight  it  was  when  all  the  coverings 
were  taken  off!  There  was  a  roast  chicken,  a 
pumpkin-pie,  and  a  mince-pie,  some  bright  red 
apples,  and  a  little   bag   of  nuts.     Betty's  eyes 


BETTY'S  WISH-BONE.  87 

were  very  round  as  she  saw  these  goodies  come 
out,  one  after  another,  but  Mrs.  Brown's  quite 
filled  with  tears,  she  was  so  pleased.  "  To  think 
we  should  have  a  Thanksgiving  dinner  after  all, 
and  I  saying  to  myself  that  nine  years  old  as 
you  was,  Betty,  you'd  never  had  one  yet.  It's 
'most  too  good  to  be  true." 

Betty  dreamed  of  roast  chicken  all  night,  and 
even  in  church  next  day  meditated  a  little  during 
the  long  sermon  as  to  how  it  was  likely  to  taste. 

When  they  had  reached  home  and  brightened 
up  the  fire,  Betty  drew  the  little  round  table  into 
the  middle  of  the  room,  while  her  mother 
searched  for  a  fine  white  table-cloth,  too  precious 
for  every-day  use,  and  Betty  pulled  at  each  cor- 
ner to  get  it  just  even,  and  patted  down  every 
wrinkle.  The  plates  were  old  and  cracked,  and 
the  two-tined  forks  joggled  in  their  handles,  as 
also  did  the  knives,  and  Betty's  drinking-cup 
was  only  a  very  battered  tin  one  ;  but  when  the 
chicken  was  set  on,  and  then  the  dish  of  white, 
mealy  potatoes,  and  the  pie,  and  the  red  apples, 
Betty's  cheeks  glowed,  and  her  eyes  were  like 
two  stars,  as  she  thought  what  a  splendid  time 
they  were  going  to  have. 

Miss  Amelia  Jane,  whose  weak  back  wouldn't 
allow  her  to  sit  up,  was  laid  on  a  three-legged 
stool,  and    had   little  bits  of  everything  offered 


88  THE   AINSLEE  STORIES. 

to  her.  Betty  pretended  she  ate  them,  but  as 
pussy  sat  under  tlie  table  and  kept  veiy  still, 
I'm  inclined  to  think  she  knew  where  they 
went  to,  and  that  Miss  Amelia  Jane  had  very 
little  to  do  with  it. 

Betty  was  very  hungry,  and  after  she  had 
eaten  both  drumsticks  her  mother  put  a  nice 
little  piece  of  white  meat  on  her  plate. 

"What  a  funny  little  bone  I"  said  Betty,  as 
she  made  way  with  the  meat.  "  It's  got  a  lit- 
tle head,  and  two  legs  way  apart.  What's  its 
name,  mother  ?  " 

"It's  the  wish-bone,  Betty,"  answered  her 
mother.  "  When  I  was  a  little  girl  at  home,  I 
used  to  dry  'em,  and  break  'em  with  sister  Sally. 
The  one  that  got  the  longest  end  had  her  wish, 
and  we  always  counted  on  gettin'  all  the  wish- 
bones we  could." 

"  Why  —  but,  mother,"  said  Betty,  "  if  I  wish 
when  I  break  it,  can  I  really  get  what  I  want  ?  " 

"  Try  it  and  see,"  laughed  her  mother.  "  I 
don't  say  you  will,  and  I  don't  say  you  won't." 

Betty's  face  had  quite  a  grave  look,  as,  after 
finishing  her  pie,  she  hung  the  wish-bone  on  a 
hook  inside  the  fire-place.  She  put  Miss  Amelia 
Jane  to  bed  very  quietly  after  the  dishes  were 
washed,  and  stared  into  the  fire  intently  as  she 
munched  her  red  apple. 


BETTY'S   WISH-BONE.  89 

"  There's  chicken  for  to-morrow,  Betty,"  said 
her  mother,  "  and  pie  too,  and  enough  apples  for 
a  week." 

No  answer.  "  What  are  you  thinking  of, 
child?" 

"  O  mother  !  ^'  said  Betty,  "  I'm  going  right 
to  bed.  There's  so  many  things  I  want  to  wish 
for,  it  makes  me  dizzy  to  keep  thinking ;  "  and 
Betty  pulled  off  her  clothes,  said  "  Now  I  lay 
me,"  and  jumped  into  bed. 

Next  morning  after  breakfast,  she  rubbed  her 
wish-bone  smooth,  tied  it  up  in  a  piece  of  paper, 
and  put  it  in  her  pocket.  There  it  stayed,  — 
for,  think  as  she  would,  Betty  never  could  settle 
down  finally  on  any  one  thing.  Yet  she  took  a 
good  deal  of  comfort  in  knowing  she  could  wish 
if  she  chose,  and  often  told  Amelia  Jane  in  con- 
fidence of  the  fine  things  she  should  have  if  she 
only  once  decided  to  break  the  charmed  bone. 

So  the  winter  passed  away  ;  spring  came  and 
merged  into  summer,  and  still  the  wish-bone  was 
daily  looked  at,  and  daily  returned  to  the  pocket. 
Betty  had  almost  made  up  her  mind,  and  as  she 
tugged  the  basket  of  clothes  back  and  forth, 
thought  with  more  and  more  enthusiasm  of  a 
doll. 

Amelia  Jane  was  really  worn  out,  and  now  it 
must  be  a  great  doll,  with  real  clothes  and  shoes 


90  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

and  stockings  ;  —  perhaps  even  a  hat  and  parasol, 
like  Lucy  Smith's !  Betty  ran  and  danced  as 
she  dreamed  of  it,  but  still  she  didn't  break  the 
wish-bone. 

The  last  of  July  came.  ]\[rs.  Brown  was  not 
well,  and  for  a  week  Betty  had  had  but  little 
washing  to  take  home.  On  Saturday,  as  she 
started  with  her  last  basket  of  clothes,  her 
mother  said,  —  "  Take  your  time  coming  home, 
Betty.  Here's  a  ginger-cake  you  may  put  in 
your  pocket,  and  take  your  tin  cup  along,  and 
maybe  you  can  find  some  berries." 

Betty's  eyes  sparkled.  She  had  had  no  holi- 
day for  a  long  time.  The  day  was  hot  and 
dusty,  but  she  hurried  on,  delivered  her  burden, 
and  almost  ran  till  she  reached  the  cool,  green 
wood  again.  Then  she  sat  down  by  the  brook, 
under  a  great  tree  whose  spreading  roots  were 
carpeted  with  soft  green  turf.  A  cool  little 
breeze  blew  down  through  the  branches,  and  the 
brook  bubbled  along  over  the  stones  in  a  quiet, 
dreamy  sort  of  way,  and  Betty  heard  a  bird  hop- 
ping overhead,  and  saw  a  red  squirrel  run  down 
a  tree  and  back  again. 

"Raspberries!"  said  Betty;  "I  know  she's 
got  a  raspberry."  Off  she  ran  to  an  o])en  space 
in  the  wood ;  sure  enough,  there  were  rasp- 
berries in   plenty,  and  her  cup  was  soon  filled. 


BETTY'S  WISH-BONE.  91 

*'  Now  I'll  have  a  tea-party,"  said  Betty  ;  "  I 
wish  Amelia  Jane  was  here." 

She  picked  a  broad,  green  leaf,  put  some  of 
her  berries  in  it,  and  mashed  the  rest  in  her  tin 
cup.  "  Raspberry  wine,"  said  Betty,  as  she 
filled  it  up  with  water  from  the  brook. 

Then  she  broke  up  her  ginger-cake  into  a 
great  many  pieces,  put  each  one  into  an  acorn 
cup,  and  leaning  back  against  the  tree,  ate  and 
drank  slowly. 

"  How  nice  it  is  !  "  thought  Betty.  "  It's 
warm,  and  it's  cool,  too,  and  things  taste  good. 
I  wish  mother  had  some  berries.  I'll  take  her 
some  in  my  cup  when  I  go  home  ;  poor  mother ! 
she  works  all  the  time,  and  I  can't  do  much  of 
anything  but  take  the  clothes  home  "  —  and 
here  Betty's  mind  wandered  off  into  all  sorts  of 
plans  for  helping. 

"  The  wish-bone  !  "  she  thought,  with  a  start. 
"  I  might  better  wish  for  mother  than  myself. 
Which  shall  it  be  —  machine  or  doll  ?  " 

Betty  was  half-angry  that  such  a  question 
should  come  up,  and  she  took  her  bone  from  her 
pocket  with  a  little  impatient  jerk  and  laid  it 
down  on  the  leaf  near  her  beri'ies. 

There  was  a  stir  in  the  bushes  near  her.  She 
turned  quickly.  What  a  pale,  dirty,  miserable 
little  face  was  looking  at  her.     Betty  knew  in  a 


92  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

moment  that  it  was  little  Ben  Jones,  whose 
mother  had  been  sick  in  the  poor-house  a  long 
time. 

"  Why,  Ben  !  "  said  she,  "  what  made  you 
come  here  ?  " 

"  Mother's  dead,"  said  Ben  ;  "  and  I  ran  away 
yesterday  from  the  poor-house,  and  stayed  in  a 
barn  all  night,  and  I'm  hungry,  and  —  oh-h  ! '' 

Poor  Ben  broke  down,  and  cried  and  cried. 
Betty  looked  at  him,  and  then  cried  too. 

"  Ben,  you  may  have  the  rest  of  my  ginger- 
cake,"  she  said,  when  his  sobs  grew  fainter ;  and 
I'll  show  you  where  the  berries  are,  and  you  can 
wash  your  face  in  the  brook,  and  1*11  take  you 
home  with  me,  and  mother  '11  let  you  stay  to- 
night, I  guess." 

So  Ben,  quite  comforted,  scrubbed  his  dirty 
little  fists  and  then  his  face  in  the  brook,  and 
wiped  them  on  Betty's  apron,  and  then  the  two 
children  gathered  berries,  and  Ben  ate  the  rest 
of  the  ginger-cake. 

The  sun  was  setting  when  Bettv  remembered 
she  must  go  home.  She  was  half-afraid,  as  she 
neared  the  house,  of  what  might  be  said  to  poor 
Ben,  and  sent  him  behind  the  house  till  she 
could  tell  his  story. 

Mrs.  Brown  had  been  thinking  all  that  after- 
noon  what  would  become  of  Betty  if  she  were 


BETTY'S  WISH-BONE.  93 

left  alone,  and  her  heart  was  tender  toward  all 
motherless  children  ;  so  she  said,  "  He  can  staj 
till  Monday,  Betty,  and  then  something  must  be 
done  for  him." 

Betty  dragged  Ben  in  from  behind  the  wood- 
pile, where  he  had  taken  refuge,  and  as  he 
looked  at  Mrs.  Brown's  kind  motherly  face,  he 
cried  again. 

Supper  comforted  him,  and  a  presentation  to 
Amelia  Jane  followed. 

"  I've  got  something  else,  Ben,"  said  Betty, 
putting  her  hand  in  her  pocket. 

'•  O  mother,  mother  !  Oh  my  wish-bone  !  " 
she  cried  a  moment  after.  "  1  left  it  in  the 
wood  !  O  mother,  what  shall  I  do  ?  " 

Unhappy  Betty  !  it  was  dark,  and  nothing 
could  be  found  that  night  at  any  rate.  Ben 
promised  to  look  for  it  by  daylight  next  morning, 
but  Betty  crept  sadly  to  bed.  "  If  I'd  only 
wished,"  she  said,  "  but  now  it's  gone,  and  none 
of  us  won't  have  anything  at  all." 

Next  morning;  it  rained.  How  it  rained  !  Ben 
came  back  dripping  from  a  long  hunt  for  it,  and 
had  to  be  wrapped  in  a  quilt  while  his  clothes 
dried. 

Betty  could  not  help  laughing  at  the  queer 
figure  he  cut,  but  it  was  a  very  sad  Sunday. 
Monday  dawned    bright  and   clear,    and   Betty 


94  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

would  have  daslied  off  to  the  wood  at  once,  but 
her  mother,  who  liad  looked  very  pale  and 
strange  ever  since  she  got  up,  sat  down  suddenly 
in  a  chair  near  her. 

"  I've  got  to  go  to  bed  again,  Betty,"  said  she, 
"  but  don't  you  be  frightened ;  make  me  some 
catnip  tea  after  you've  had  your  breakfast,  and 
let  Ben  run  to  the  village  and  tell  Mrs.  James  I 
can't  take  her  washing  to-day." 

When  Betty  returned,  her  mother  sat  up  in 
bed,  stitching  on  a  fine  bosom  she  had  begun  a 
day  or  two  before.  "  It's  no  use,  Betty,"  she 
gi'oaned.  "  I  thought  I  could  finish  it  but  I  can't ; 
there's  only  one  plait  done.  Take  it  to  Mrs. 
Hopkins,  and  ask  her  to  do  it  on  her  machine." 

Betty  took  the  bosom,  and  watched  the  tiny 
plaits  come  one  after  anotlier  from  under  the 
flashing  needle,  quicker  almost  than  her  eyes 
could  follow  them,  and  when  an  hour  or  two 
later,  she  brought  it  back  to  her  mother  beauti- 
fully  stitched,  words  hardly  came  fast  enough  to 
tell  her  wonder  and  delight  at  the  rapid  work. 
"  If  you'd  sat  up  all  night,  mother,  you  couldn't 
have  made  it  look  like  that,"  said  Betty. 

"  I  know  it,"  sighed  her  mother.  "  'Twould 
be  easy  work  earning  a  living  with  one  of  them  ; 
but  now  I  can't  either  wash  or  sew,  and  what 
we're  to  do  the  Lord  only  knows." 


BETTY'S  WISH-BONE.  95 

Many  days  passed,  and  poor  Mrs.  Brown  still 
lay  there,  quite  worn-out  with  hard  work.  Per- 
haps the  poor-house  people  were  glad  to  get  rid 
of  Ben.  At  any  rate,  there  he  stayed,  and  Betty 
and  he  took  turns  in  house-keeping.  He  chopped 
up  their  firewood,  brought  water  from  the  brook, 
and  ran  errands  till  Mrs.  Brown  often  won- 
dered what  they  should  have  done  without  him. 
Their  money  ran  very  low  before  she  had 
strength  to  sit  up  again.  Kind  people  in  the  vil- 
lage helped  them  in  many  ways,  but  the  prospect 
before  them  was  very  dark. 

"  Oh  !  if  I'd  only  wished  ! "  Betty  thought 
many  a  time  as  she  heard  her  mother  sigh  —  "  if 
I'd  only  wished  for  the  machine  right  away, 
mother  wouldn't  have  been  sick  ;  and  oh  !  when 
shall  I  get  to  look  for  my  wish-bone  ?  " 

One  afternoon  Mrs.  Brown,  looking  at  Betty's 
pale  cheeks,  thought  a  run  in  the  wood  might 
do  her  good.  "  I  can  spare  you  to-day,  Betty," 
she  said,  "  so  run  off  and  have  a  rest,  my  good 
child." 

A  little  hope  came  to  poor  Betty,  and  as  she 
kissed  her  mother  she  thought,  "  Maybe  I'll  find 
the  wish-bone,  and  wish  after  all." 

She  went  slowly  along  toward  the  brook  and 
the  great  tree.  Three  weeks  and  more  had 
passed  since  her  loss,  and  she  felt  it  was  almost 


96  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

useless  to  search.  Still  she  lifted  up  every  leaf, 
looked  under  every  stone,  and  in  each  crevice 
about  the  roots  of  the  bin;  tree.  She  did  not  see 
that  a  tall  gentleman  on  the  other  side  of  the 
brook  was  watching  her  curiously;  and  so  when 
she  burst  into  a  great  passion  of  sobs,  and  thi-ew 
herself  on  the  ground,  she  was  startled  to  hear  a 
voice  saying,  "  My  little  girl,  what  is  the  mat- 
ter ?  "  Betty  looked  up.  It  was  a  kind  face 
before  her,  and  her  trouble  was  too  great  for 
bashfulness.  "  O  sir  !  "  she  cried,  "  I  lost  my 
wish-bone  before  I'd  wished,  and  mother  's  sick, 
and  we  can't  ever  have  anything  !  "  and  Betty 
cried  again  bitterly. 

Little  by  little  the  stranger  drew  the  whole 
story  from  her. 

"I  wouldn't  give  up  yet,"  he  said;  "let's 
look  for  it  together. 

Betty  felt  encouraged  in  spite  of  herself  "  I've 
looked  everywhere,"  she  said  ;  but  even  as  she 
spoke  the  stranger  turning  up  a  dead  branch  dis- 
closed the  wish-bone ! 

"  Oh  !  "  screamed  Betty,  "  I  've  got  it,  and 
now  we  can  have  everything !  "  and  she  cried 
again  for  veiy  joy. 

"  Will  you  break  it  with  me,  Betty?  "  said  the 
stranger. 

Betty  looked  dubiously  at  him.      Why  not, 


BETTY'S   WISH-BONE.  97 

though  ?  He  had  found  it  for  her,  and  who  had 
a  better  right  ?  She  held  out  one  end,  but  what 
a  sharp  httle  conflict  began  all  at  once  as  she 
held  it.  She  had  thought  that  if  only  the  bone 
were  once  found,  she  sliould  not  hesitate  one 
moment  in  her  wish,  yet  never  had  the  doll 
seemed  so  lovely  or  so  much  to  be  desired. 
Self-indulgence  and  self-sacrifice  battled  fiercely 
in  Betty's  mind,  and  the  stranger  watching  her, 
saw  curious  expressions  flit  over  her  little  face. 

"  Um  awful  to  think  of  my  doll  one  minute 
when  mother  has  been  so  sick,  "  thought  Betty. 

She  shut  her  eyes  tight,  she  was  so  in  earnest, 
and  pulled  at  her  end  as  she  said  to  herself,  —  "I 
wish  mother  might  get  well  right  away,  and  have 
a  sewing-machine,  so  't  she  needn't  ever  have  to 
wash  any  more." 

Betty  didn't  know  in  what  a  loud  whisper  she 
said  these  words,  for  she  heard  a  little  crack,  and 
opening  her  eyes  saw  the  long  end  in  her  hand  ! 
"  Oh  goody  !  "  shouted  Betty,  and  then  sat  quite 
still. 

"Tell  me  what  you  wished  —  won't  you?'' 
said  the  stranger. 

"  I  couldn't,"  Betty  answered,  "  for  you  know 
it  wouldn't  come  true  if  I  did." 

There  was  a  queer  little  smile  in  his  eyes  as  he 
said,  "Then  don't  tell  it  by  any  means;"  but 
7 


98  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

Betty  was  too  busy  in  thought  to  notice  it,  and 
darted  home  as  soon  as  she  could  get  away.  Ben 
met  her  half-waj^,  and  said  they  were  to  go  to 
the  village  together  for  some  medicine,  and  so 
an  hour  and  more  passed  before  she  reached 
home  again. 

Betty  gave  a  great  jump  as  she  went  in,  for  the 
stranger  sat  there  quite  at  home,  and  laughed 
aloud  as  she  stood  perfectly  still  in  astonish- 
ment. 

How  mysterious  it  all  was!  Betty  had  to  be 
told  a  great  many  times  before  she  could  really 
understand,  that  this  tall  gentleman  was  own 
brother  to  Ben's  mother  ;  that  he  had  been  in 
China  for  many  years,  and  that  coming  home 
with  more  money  than  he  could  ever  want  for 
himself,  he  had  found  that  there  were  no  rela- 
tives left  to  help  him  in  spending  it  save  this  one 
little  Ben.  "  Uncle  Dan,"  he  said  the  children 
must  call  him ;  but  Betty  thought  she  never 
could  give  him  that  name. 

After  all,  though,  this  afternoon  had  made 
them  very  well  acquainted,  and  before  bed-time 
Betty  felt  as  if  she  had  known  him  all  her  life, 
confided  to  him  all  her  hopes  and  desires  for  her 
mother,  and  even  whispered  a  description  of 
Lucy  Smith's  doll. 

It  was  astonishing   how  fast    her  mother  got 


BETTY'S   WISH-BONE.  99 

well,  now  that  she  did  not  worry  so  much  about 
their  future,  for  Uncle  Dan  said  those  who  had 
cared  so  kindly  for  his  nephew  must  never  want 
again.  When  one  day  he  told  them  he  must  go 
to  New  York  on  business,  Ben  and  Betty  were 
almost  heart-broken,  and  only  consoled  when  he 
promised  to  come  back  in  a  week  or  two. 

Two  or  three  days  afterwards,  a  wagon  lum- 
bered over  the  wood  road  and  stopped  at  the 
little  house.  Out  of  it  came  a  great  wooden  box, 
at  which  the  driver  and  Ben  hammered  away 
for  some  time.  When  it  came  apart,  there 
proved  to  be  a  small  box  inside,  and  on  it  was 
printed  in  great  letters,  — 

"FOR  BETTY  BROWN." 

Betty  saw  something  else  ;  what  it  was  she 
didn't  know,  but  ^Qfelt. 

"Mother,  O  mother!  it's  the  sewing-machine; 
I  know  it  is  ;  I  know  it  is  !  I  knew  my  wish  was 
coming  true  !  " 

Betty  was  right.  There  it  certainly  was,  in 
its  pretty  walnut  case,  the  fairy  that  was  to 
bring  ease  and  comfort  and  freedom  forever  from 
hard,  ill-paid  labor.  Mrs.  Brown's  eyes  were 
full,  and  her  hands  shook  as  she  lifted  the  lid 
and  looked  at  the  shining  silver  plate,  and  bright 
busy  needle,  and  Betty  danced  wildly  around, 
pulling  Ben  with  her. 


100  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

Meanwhile  the  driver  had  been  knocking  the 
cover  off  Betty's  box.  In  it  lay  a  paper  one  tied 
carefully.  Betty's  fingers  were  almost  as  un- 
steady as  her  mother's  when  she  untied  the 
knots  and  lifted  the  cover.  There  was  one  de- 
lighted little  squeal,  and  then  she  stood  quite 
still  before  a  doll  —  such  a  doll!  Lucy  Smith's 
was  nothing  to  it  —  lovely  blue  eyes,  and 
curling  hair,  and  red  cheeks,  and  dressed  just 
like  a  little  girl  five  or  six  years  old  —  button- 
holes and  all  —  so  that  she  could  be  undressed 
every  night,  and,  besides  the  clothes,  all  sorts  of 
pieces  of  silk  and  muslin  and  linen,  so  that  Betty 
could  make  for  herself  dresses  and  aprons  and 
all  the  little  things.  And  in  the  bottom  of  the 
box  there  turned  up  such  a  beautiful  book,  with 
bright-red  covers,  and  "  Robinson  Crusoe  "  on 
the  back,  and  Ben's  name  in  it !  They  were  all 
quite  wild,  and  Betty  told  her  mother  she  thought 
they  ought  to  be  very  thankful  to  God  for  making 
wish-bones. 

Uncle  Dan  came  back  again,  and  enjoyed 
their  happiness  fully  as  much  as  they  did.  He 
stayed  at  home  long  enough  to  see  Mrs.  Brown 
overrun  with  orders  for  sewing-machine  work, 
and  to  place  both  Ben  and  Betty  at  school. 
Ben  himself  was  to  decide  on  his  future  as  he 
grew  older. 


BETTY'S  WISH-BONE.  101 

Betty  lost  a  little  of  her  faith  in  wish-bones  as 
years  went  on,  but  to  this  day  she  keeps  the 
pieces  of  her  first  one  in  a  little  box,  and  was 
heard  to  say  lately,  as  she  looked  at  a  fine  car- 
riage with  its  coat  of  arms,  that  if  ever  she  were 
rich  enough  to  ride  in  one,  she  was  sure  she 
should  have  a  wish-bone  painted  on  each  door. 


VIII. 

AUGUST   DATS. 

Haying-time  was  over  when  Ainslee  ran 
about  again.  Sinny  was  perfect  in  playing  Jack- 
straws,  for  his  httle,  lean,  black  fingers  never 
joggled  as  Ainslee's  fat,  stumpy  ones  did  ;  but 
Ainslee  said  he  never  wanted  to  play  them  any 
more,  because  he  should  always  think  he  had  a 
cut  foot  if  he  did.  So  they  were  put  away  in  the 
closet  with  the  dominos,  and  the  Tivoli  Board, 
and  the  Mansion  of  Happiness,  Avhich  they 
hadn't  succeeded  in  very  well,  because  neither 
of  them  could  read  the  names  under  the  pic- 
tures ;  and  now  Ainslee  spent  all  his  time  in  the 
barnyard  by  the  hen-house,  where  with  the 
greatest  pains  he  and  Sinny  had  made  for  them- 
selves a  house  from  a  pile  of  old  boards,  by  tilt- 
ing them  up  against  the  hen-house,  and  resting 
the  ends  on  an  old  bench. 

From  this  they  sallied  out  to  the  woods  or 
garden,  bringing  all  spoils  back  to  it.  Here  in  a 
box  with  a  glass  top  was  Ainslee's  great  brown 
caterpillar,  supplied  each  day  with   fresh    green 


AUGUST  DAYS.  103 

leaves,  and  always  expected  to  turn  into  a  but- 
terfly at  any  moment.  Here,  too,  stood  a  big 
box,  which  Uncle  Ainslee  had  cemented  for 
them,  and  so  made  water-tight,  and  in  it  were 
two  tadpoles,  a  small  green  frog  who  had  been 
tadpole  number  one,  and  a  turtle  just  the  size  of 
an  old  copper  cent,  that  ate  all  the  flies  Ainslee 
and  Sinny  gave  themselves  time  to  catch,  and 
could  have  eaten  a  great  many  more.  Under  a 
flower-pot  in  a  corner  lived  two  black  crickets, 
who  never  chirped  till  after  dark,  and  must  have 
wondered  all  the  time  where  the  light  had  gone, 
for  never  a  bit  did  they  see,  except  when  Ains- 
lee lifted  the  pot  a  moment,  to  find  out  whether 
or  not  they  had  run  away.  Two  black  beetles 
had  lived  under  it  at  first,  but  they  had  dug  out 
immediately  ;  and  now  Ainslee,  who  had  heard 
Uncle  Ainslee  tell  about  the  Chinese  putting 
crickets  in  a  dish  and  letting  them  fight,  was 
keeping  these  for  some  rainy  day,  when  he  in- 
tended to  try  the  experiment. 

"  They  sing  so  loud  every  night,"  said  he,  "  I 
don't  believe  they  want  to  fight.  I  guess  Ameli- 
can  crickets  is  better  than  Chinese  ones." 

To-day,  tadpole  number  two  showed  two  little 
legs  and  M-as  swimming  about  briskly,  while  the 
turtle  sat  on  a  stone  that  Ainslee  had  put  into 
the  box  to  play  it  was  a  rock,  and  looked  as  if 


104  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

lie  liadn't  had  flies  enough  and  felt  that  he  had 
never  been  properly  treated.  Ainslee's  father 
was  very  fond  of  Natural  History,  which  is  some- 
thing that  you  little  people,  particularly  those  of 
you  who  live  in  the  country,  might  know  much 
more  about  than  you  do,  just  by  keeping  your 
eyes  wide  open,  and  watching  the  habits  of  every 
bird  and  insect  you  see,  and  Ainslee  was  getting 
old  enough  to  spend  much  of  his  time  in  finding 
out  the  ways  of  spiders,  and  bugs,  and  worms. 

Both  big  and  little  people  too  often  think  of 
these  creatures  as  disgusting  things,  which  they 
must  crush  and  kill  as  fast  as  possible ;  but  Ains- 
lee, who  had  never  been  taught  to  be  afraid  of 
them,  came  walking  in  with  speckled  spiders, 
and  long  red  and  green  worms,  and  kicking, 
sprawling  bugs,  till  grandma  said  it  was  a  mercy 
that  his  life  was  spared,  and  he  was  his  father 
all  over  again.  Sinny  Avas  interested,  too,  and 
his  little  woolly  head  was  taking  in  knowledge 
which  the  district  school  Avould  never  give  him, 
and  which  he,  some  day  or  other  far  in  the  fu- 
ture, might  in  turn  give  to  his  children. 

This  morning,  however,  he  was  more  inter- 
ested in  his  pocket,  for  there  was  something  in 
it  which  jingled,  and  though  he  said  not  a  word 
he  kept  his  hand  there  till  Ainslee  couldn't  bear 
it  one  moment  lono-er. 


AUGUST  DAYS.  105 

"  What  is  you  got  in  your  pocket,  Sinny  ?  " 
said  he. 

"  Two  cents,"  said  Sinny.  "  Granther  give 
'em  to  me  'cause  I  picked  the  big  wheelbarrow 
full  of  chips  twice.  I'm  goin'  to  spend  'em  to- 
day."^ 

"  I've  got  a  three-cent  cullency,^''  said  Ainslee, 
"  that  papa  gived  me.  Let's  go  down  to  the  vil- 
lage and  spend  them  both  to  time." 

"  Your  mother  won't  let  you,"  said  Sinny. 

"  Yes,  she  will,"  answered  Ainslee.  "  You 
stay  here  and  I'll  go  ask  her." 

Ainslee  was  gone  some  time,  and  came  back 
with  a  clean  face  and  hands,  and  a  hat  with  a 
whole  brim. 

"  Mamma  says  we  must  walk  slow,"  said  he, 
"  'cause  it's  hot ;  and  she  says  she  trusts  us  not 
to  get  into  mischief,  and  hopes  we  shall  both  be 
good." 

"  Well,"  said  Sinny,  "  let's  come  right  along, 
then,"  and  the  two  children  started  down  the 
road.  The  village  was  nearly  a  mile  away,  but 
the  same  road  which  passed  grandpa's  house,  and 
led  over  the  river  to  church,  also  led  to  the  vil- 
lage, and  there  were  beautiful  maples  all  along 
the  way,  and  a  cold  little  spring  which  bubbled 
up  under  a  rock,  and  tasted  better  than  ice- 
water.     Ponto  was  with  them,  and  which  of  the 


106  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

tluve  WLMit  most  out  of  their  way  it  would  be 
hard  to  tell.  Pouto  exauiined  every  bush  and 
thicket,  as  if'  he  were  sure  of  a  woodchuck  at 
least ;  and  wherever  he  went  Ainslee  and  Sinny 
trotted  after,  to  see  what  he  was  doing,  till,  if 
they  had  been  anything  but  boys,  they  would 
have  dropped  down  with  weariness. 

By  the  side  of  a  farm-house  was  a  pond,  and 
here  were  sailing  some  goslings,  while  an  old 
gray  gander  and  two  or  three  white  geese  stood 
on  the  edge  overseeing  them. 

"  Oh  !  the  dear  little  gooses  !  "  said  Ainslee  ; 
"  let's  catch  one,  Sinny." 

'•  The  gander  '11  run  after  you  if  you  do,"  said 
Sinny. 

"  He  wouldn't  do  such  a  thing,"  answered 
Ainslee.     "  He'd  be  afraid." 

Ponto  settled  that  question  by  jumping  in  sud- 
denly among  the  geese.  The  old  gander  stood 
its  ground,  giving  Ponto  a  nip  with  its  bill  that 
sent  him  off  howling  ;  then,  seeming  to  think 
Ainslee  had  something  to  do  with  it,  turned 
and  ran  toward  him,  hissing. 

"  He'll  hit  you  a  clip  —  run  !  "  shouted  Sinny ; 
and  they  did  run,  never  stopping  till  they  found 
themselves  on  the  grocery  steps. 

"  My  !  ain't  I  hot  ?  "  said  Sinny  ;  "  let's  sit  still 
a  minute." 


Ilf'll  hit  joii  a  dill,  —  run!"  shouted  Siiiiiy."  —  Sue  piige  106. 


AUGUST  DAYS.  107 

Over  the  way  was  a  druggist's,  and  looking  in, 
Ainslee  saw  a  soda-fountain  and  some  bright 
bottles  of  sirups  on  the  stand,  while  the  ch'uggist 
stood  behind  in  his  shirt  sleeves. 

"  Ho  !  "  said  he,  "  there's  soda-water.  Papa 
buyed  me  some  soda-water  once.  Let's  get 
some  instead  o'  candy." 

"  What's  it  like  ?  "  said  Sinny. 

"  It's  sweet,  and  bity,  and  cold,  too,"  said 
Ainslee  ;  "  come  over  and  we'll  get  some." 

They  crossed  the  street,  and  the  druggist  came 
forward. 

"  I  want  two  glasses  of  sweet  soda-water,"  said 
Ainslee. 

"  Sarsaparilla  or  lemon  ?  "  said  the  druggist. 
Ainslee  thought  lemon  sounded  best,  and  so  said 
that,  and  two  foaming  glasses  were  given  them. 
Sinny  coughed  and  spluttered,  but  at  last  drank 
his  down  from  a  sense  of  duty ;  while  Ainslee, 
who  had  finished  his,  stood  watching  him.  Then 
he  took  out  his  three-cent  bill,  and  Sinny  his  two 
pennies,  and  handed  them  over. 

"  This  won't  do,"  said  the  druggist.  "  I  want 
fifteen  cents  more." 

"  But  we  haven't  got  but  those,"  said   Ainslee. 

"  Then  you're  a  bad  boy  to  come  in  and  get 
soda-water  in  that  way,"  said  the  druggist.  "  It's 
the  same  as  stealing.     You've  got  to  pay    for  it, 


108  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

right  away,  too,  or  maybe  I'll  send  you  up  to  the 

jail.'; 

AInslee  and  Sinny  began  to  cry.  "  I  didn't 
know  it  was  fifteen  cents  more,"  said  Ainslee.  "  I 
never  did  have  so  many." 

"  Go  home  and  tell  your  mother  what  you've 
done,  and  come  back  quick  with  the  money,  or 
I'll  be  after  you,"  said  the  druggist. 

Ainslee  and  Sinny  left  the  store  heavy-hearted. 
Ponto  ran  and  jumped  before  them,  but  they 
walked  slowly  on,  not  even  looking  when  they 
came  to  the  little  pond,  where  now  the  geese  and 
goslings  were  swimming  together. 

"  Mamma  said  we  mustn't  get  into  mischief," 
said  Ainslee.  "  I  did  n't  know  I  was  a-going  to," 
and  he  cried  again,  till  as  they  went  in  at  grand- 
pa's gate,  and  the  thought  of  what  he  had  to  tell 
came  over  him  more  fully,  the  sobs  merged  into 
a  roar. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  said  mother,  running 
down  the  stairs.     "  Are  you  hurt,  Ainslee  ?  " 

"  No,  mamma,"  sobbed  Ainslee,  "  only  I  did  get 
into  mischief." 

"  What  have  you  done  now  ?  "  said  mamma, 
anxiously. 

"  I  buyed  soda-water  for  Sinny  and  me,  and 
the  man  said  it  was  fifteen  cents  more,  when  I 
gived  him  my  three  cents  and  Sinny 's  two  ;  and 


AUGUST  DAYS.  109 

he  said  maybe  he'd  send  us  to  jail " —  and  here 
both  Sinny  and  Ainslee  screamed  in  concert. 

"  Mercy  on  me !  "  said  grandma,  coming  out 
of  the  dining-room.  "  Ainslee  ain't  hurt  again  — 
is  he  ?  " 

"No,"  said  mamma,  "he  has  only  been  exper- 
imenting in  the  village  ;  he  and  Sinny  have  been 
buying  soda-w^ater  on  credit,  and  the  druggist 
doesn't  like  it." 

"  I  shouldn't  think  he  would,"  said  grandma. 
"  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it  ?  " 

"  Neither  of  them  knew  the  price  of  a  glass," 
said  mamma,  "  though  Ainslee  should  have  asked 
me  before  he  went  ;  and  as  they  didn't  mean  to 
do  wrong  I  shall  pay  the  druggist  myself  when  I 
go  to  the  village,  and  Ainslee  will  know  better 
another  time." 

Ainslee's  face  had  gradually  cleared,  and  as 
mamma  ended,  he  said,  — 

"Then  we  won't  have  to  go  to  jail,  mamma?  " 

"  No  indeed,"  said  mamma.  "  Now  run  and 
have  your  face  washed,  and  then  you  shall  have 
some  lunch." 

Sinny  received  a  cooky  from  grandma  and  ran 
home,  while  Ainslee,  after  getting  up-staii*s,  felt 
so  tired  and  sleepy  that  he  lay  down  on  the  bed 
and  went  fast  asleep  till  nearly  tea-time.  Even 
after  supper  he  was  still  tired,  and  went  to  bed 


110  THE   AINSLEE  STORIES. 

very  early,  wliile  mamma  and  Uncle  Ainslee 
walked  to  the  village  and  paid  the  druggist,  who 
said  if  he  had  known  M'ho  Ainslee  was  he  should 
have  told  him  it  was  all  right ;  but  of  course  it 
would  never  do  to  let  any  boy  who  wished  get 
soda-wat^er  on  credit. 

Ainslee  waked  up  next  morning  as  fresh  as 
ever.  At  the  breakfast-table  Uncle  Ainslee,  who 
had  been  reading  Du  Chaillu's  "  Travels  in 
Africa,"  was  talking  to  grandpa  about  gorillas, 
and  describing  some  he  had  seen  in  New  York, 
which  Du  Chaillu  had  brought  there. 

"  What  are  gorillas  ?  "  asked  Ainslee,  M-ho  had 
listened  with  the  greatest  attention  to  an  account 
of  Du  Chaillu's  first  meeting  with  one. 

"  They  are  a  good  deal  like  the  ourang-outang 
which  you  saw  last  winter  at  the  menagerie,  only 
very  much  larger  and  stronger,"  said  his  father, 
who  had  come  up  from  the  city  in  the  night,  and 
astonished  him  by  being  at  the  breakfast-table 
when  he  came  in.  "  Ihave  the  book  in  my  valise, 
and  after  breakfast  I  will  show  you  the  pictures." 

After  breakfast,  however,  somebody  came,  and 
Ainslee,  getting  tired  of  waiting,  went  out  to  his 
house.  Sinny  was  there,  holding  a  little  tin  pail 
and  looking  very  important. 

"  What  have  you  got,  Sinny  ?  "  asked  Ainslee. 

"Got  a  shiner,"  said  Sinny;  "'live  too.     I 


AUGUST  DAYS.  Ill 

caught  him  in  our  brook,  and  he  just  swimmed 
right  into  the  pail  —  when  I  put  it  into  the  water." 

"  Put  him  into  my  Aqualium,^^  said  Ainslee, 
delighted,  "  and  let's  see  what  the  tadpoles  '11  do." 

Sinny  tipped  the  pail,  and  the  little  silvery  thing 
slid  in  and  then  swam  wildly  about,  as  if  not  feel- 
ing at  all  at  home  in  this  dark  box.  The  tad- 
poles paid  no  attention  to  it  ;  the  frog  was  fast 
asleep  under  a  stone,  and  only  the  turtle  came 
paddling  along  and  put  up  his  head  to  find  out 
what  was  going  on. 

"  He  wants  his  breakfast,"  said  Ainslee,  and 
he  threw  in  some  cracker-crumbs  and  a  fly  or  two 
that  he  had  brought  out. 

Just  then  he  saw  his  father  walking  down  to- 
ward the  old  summer-house  in  the  garden,  carry- 
ing a  book. 

"  Come  along,  Sinny,"  said  Ainslee,  "  papa's 
going  to  tell  me  about  pictures  ;  "  and  both  ran 
to  where  Mr.  Barton  had  seated  himself.  It 
would  take  too  long  to  tell  you  the  many  strange 
things  which  Mr.  Barton  told  them  about  gorillas, 
—  how  some  were  so  strong  that  they  could  take 
a  gun,  and  break  it  in  two  as  easily  as  you  would 
a  pipe-stem,  and  one  blow  from  their  great  hands 
would  kill  you  in  a  moment ;  how  afraid  of  them 
all  the  different  tribes  of  negroes  were,  and 
how  few  of  them  had  dared  to  go  with  Mr.  Du 


112  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES- 

Cliaillu  when  he  hunted  thein.  They  were  not 
half  through  the  book  vvlien  mamma  came  out 
and  siud  she  was  going  to  the  vilkige  with  papa, 
and  Ainslee  could  go  too  if  he  wished. 

"  Come  and  see  my  beautiful  shiner  first,"  said 
Ainslee,  and  all  went  together. 

"He'll  be  lonesome  —  won't  he?"  said  Mr. 
Barton.  "  If  you  had  two  or  three  they  would 
be  company  for  each  other." 

"  Mayn't  I  go  to  the  brook  with  Sinny  and 
get  some  ?  I'd  rather  than  go  to  the  village," 
said  Ainslee. 

"  I'm  afraid  he'll  tumble  in,"  said    mamma. 

"  No,  I  w'on't,  mamma,"  said  Ainslee.  "  I'll 
be  real  good." 

"  Well,"  said  mamma,  "  take  your  lunch  with 
you,  and  you  can  eat  it  in  the  meadow  ;  "  and 
Ainslee  ran  off  delighted. 

"  I'm  going  a-fishing,  grandma,"  said  he,  as 
he  went  into  the  hovise. 

"  What  you  going  to  fish  with  ?  "  said  grand- 
ma. "  You'll  get  the  fish-hooks  in  your  hands 
and  be  hurt  dreadfully." 

"  I  ain't  going  to  fish  with  a  hook  ;  I'm  going 
to  fish  with  a  tin  pail,"  said  Ainslee.  "  Let  me 
have  a  teejity  one,  grandma,  and  please  put  my 
lunch  in  it,  'cause  I'm  going  to  eat  it  under  a  tree 
along  w^ith  Sinny." 


AUGUST   DAYS.  113 

Grandma  filled  the  little  pail  with  cookies,  and 
looked  as  if  she  had  more  than  half  a  mind  to  say 
that  he  ought  not  to  go  any  way,  though  she  said 
not  a  word  more,  and  Ainslee  danced  off,  down 
the  hill  on  which  the  house  stood,  and  through 
the  beautiful  meadow  to  the  brook  which  wound 
through  grandpa's  land.  It  was  August  now, 
and  the  great  heat  had  dried  it  up,  till  what  was 
in  spring-time  almost  a  river,  was  now  a  narrow 
stream  hardly  up  to  Ainslee's  knee  at  its  deepest 
part,  and  with  a  belt  of  white  stones  on  either 
side,  that  a  month  or  two  later  would  be  covered 
again  and  kept  away  i'rom  the  sun,  when  the 
stream  beoan  to  rise  under  the  fall  rains. 

Three  £>;reat  buttonwood-trees  stood  together 
by  the  brook-side,  making  a  cool  and  pleasant 
shade.  Here  Ainslee  sat  doAvn,  and  unlaced  and 
took  off  his  high  boots  and  put  his  stockings  in 
them,  for  the  day  was  so  warm  that  he  felt  sure 
mamma  would  let  him  wade,  as  he  had  done  the 
week  before,  while  Sinny  stepped  into  the  water 
and  splashed  all  about. 

"  You  stop  a-doing  that,"  said  Ainslee,  "you'll 
frighten  all  the  shiners  ;  "  and  he  stepped  in  softly 
and  sat  down  on  a  big  stone  in  the  middle  of  the 
brook. 

"  Oh  here's  all  the  cookies  in  the  pail,"  said, 
he  ;  "let's  eat 'em  now." 


114  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

"  No,"  said  Sinny,  "  let's  put  'em  under  a  tree 
and  eat  'eui  after  we've  eauglit  a  fish." 

So  the  cookies  were  emptied  and  put  on  some 
leaves,  and  before  very  long  two  little  shiners 
were  bumping  their  noses  against  the  side  of  the 
pail,  trying  to  swim  straight  ahead  as  they  had 
always  done. 

'•''  They  don't  know  nothin',"  said  Ainslee  ; 
"  they  might  keep  still  when  they're  in  a  pail  ; 
let's  eat  the  cookies  quick  and  take  'em  up  to  the 
Aqualium.,  and  then  we'll  come  back  and  sail 
pea-pods." 

So  the  two  children  ate  lunch,  and  then  Ains- 
lee put  on  his  boots  without  lacing,  and  ran  up  to 
the  house,  leaving  Sinny  to  catch  another  fish  if 
he  liked. 

The  shiners  swam  around  quite  at  home. in  the 
box  when  Ainslee  put  them  in,  and  then  he  Avent 
into  the  kitchen  for  some  pea-pods  and  broom 
splinters.  Ann  gave  him  a  handful,  and  he 
pulled  out  the  peas  as  he  went  along,  and  ate  one 
or  two. 

Uncle  Ainslee,  as  he  passed  by,  came  out  of  the 
summer-house  which  overlooked  the  meadow. 

"  What^re  you  going  to  do  now  ?  "  said  he. 

"  I'm  going  to  sail  boats,"  said  Ainslee  ;  "  you 
come  too  —  won't  you  ?  " 

Uncle  Ainslee  followed,  and  sat  down  under 


AUGUST  DAYS.  115 

the  buttonwood-trees,  while  the  children  stuck 
broom  splinters  into  the  peas  for  masts,  and 
sailed  them  back  and  forth. 

The  soft  summer  wind  was  blowing ;  the  brook 
flowed  slowly,  just  rippling  over  the  pebbles,  and 
the  grasshoppers  chirped  from  the  hay-field. 
Uncle  Ainslee's  eyes  grew  dreamy,  and  he  seemed 
to  be  looking  far  away,  beyond  the  great  moun- 
tains before  them. 

"  Tell  me  a  story,"  said  Ainslee,  suddenly 
coming  out  of  the  brook  ;  "  I'm  tired  of  swim- 
ming boats." 

"  What  about  ?  "  said  Uncle  Ainslee,  rousing 
himself. 

"  About  a  boy,"  said  Ainslee. 

"  Well,"  answered  Uncle  Ainslee,  "  when  I 
was  a  boy  and  played  by  this  brook,  I  used  to 
look  up  to  that  tall  mountain,  and  wonder  what 
was  behind  it,  and  this  morning  I  have  been 
thinking  of  some  of  the  things  I  have  seen  since 
I  went  away  from  it,  and  of  one  which  came  to 
my  mind  I  will  tell  you  now." 


IX. 

MICHAEL   MICHAELOVITCH. 

"  When  I  was  a  boy,"  began  Uncle  Ainslee, 
"  I  used  to  sit  under  tliese  old  buttonwood-trees, 
and  read  books  of  travel  and  adventure,  and 
think  that  if  ev^er  I  were  old  enough,  I  would 
see  every  one  of  the  places  I  had  read  about. 
One  Christmas  I  found  in  my  stocking  a  book 
which  your  mamma  had  put  in  it  for  me,  and  the 
money  for  which  she  had  earned  by  sewing  car- 
pet-rags together  for  grandma's  kitchen-carpet. 
The  name  of  this  book  was  '  The  Exiles  of  Si- 
beria,' and  it  was  so  sweet  a  story  that  when  you 
are  older,  I  shall  want  you  to  read  and  enjoy  it, 
just  as  much  as  I  did.  It  told  of  a  country 
called  Russia,  where  snow  lies  thick  on  the 
ground  many  months  in  the  year,  and  all  who 
can  afford  it,  go  about  wrapped  up  to  their  eyes 
in  furs,  while  the  poor  people  wear  sheep-skins, 
with  the  wool  turned  in. 

"  You  know  how  clear  and  shining  ice  is.  Well 
once  a  great  Queen,  who  governed  Russia,  and 
whose  name  was  Queen  Catherine,  had  built  for 


MICHAEL  MICHAELOVITCH.  117 

her  a  palace  all  in  ice,  —  ice  walls  and  chairs,  and 
tables  and  sofas  ;  and  the  weather  was  so  clear  and 
cold  that  it  lasted  a  long  time.  They  had  balls 
in  it,  and  danced  on  the  ice  floors,  and,  for  all  I 
can  remember,  ate  ice-cream  from  ice  plates,  and 
drank  iced  lemonade  from  ice  goblets.  I  read  of 
all  these  things  when  a  boy,  as  I  told  you,  and  it 
made  me  want  so  much  to  see  this  country  far 
over  the  ocean,  that  at  last,  eight  or  nine  years 
ago,  I  left  the  warm,  beautiful  Italy,  where  I  had 
been  for  some  time,  and  spent  the  fall  and  part 
of  the  winter  in  Russia.  When  you  are  older, 
and  can  look  on  maps,  and  know  enough  of  geog- 
raphy to  follow  in  your  mind  the  roads  I  trav- 
elled, and  see  the  strange  towns  I  stopped  in,  I 
shall  very  likely  tell  you  some  stories  about  them. 
To-day,  though,  I  shall  only  tell  of  something 
which  happened  to  me  in  the  old  city  of  Moscow, 
where  I  stayed  nearly  a  month. 

"  There  was  one  place  to  which  I  often  went 
while  there,  which  is  called  the  Kremlin.  It  is 
a  palace  and  a  ch^^rch  together,  standing  on  a  hill 
called  the  Kremlin  Terrace,  from  which  you  look 
down  upon  the  city  lying  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river  Moskowa,  which  flows  between. 

"  You  went  up  into  the  steeple  of  Trinity 
Church  with  me,  in  the  summer,  and  thought 
it  a  very  wonderful  sight,  when  you  looked  down 


lis  THK  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

on  that  great  New  York,  and  louked  over  to  the 
cities^  and  towns  close  about  it.  You  tried  to 
count  all  the  steeples  you  saw,  and  couldn't  well 
do  it,  because  you  had  never  learned  far  enough 
in  your  numbers.  Now  imagine  every  one  of 
these  steeples  gilded,  and  every  roof  painted 
green,  and  think  how  it  would  have  flashed  un- 
der 3'our  eyes,  looking  down  on  it  all  in  tlie  sun- 
shine. 

"  Once,  a  long  time  ago,  the  people  who  lived 
in  Moscow  burned  up  the  whole  city,  rather  than 
let  it  fall  into  the  hands  of  a  great  army  who 
were  coming  to  take  it.  The  great  stone  walls 
were  left  standing,  for  fire  could  not  burn  them, 
you  know  ;  and  so  after  the  enemy  had  all  gone 
home  again,  tliinking  it  no  use  to  try  and  conquer 
a  country  where  all  the  people  would  burn  their 
houses  rather  than  give  them  up,  everybody  went 
to  work,  and  made  the  palaces  and  churches 
more  splendid  than  they  were  before.  I  used  to 
think  sometimes  when  I  went  to  the  Kremlin, 
that  Aladdin's  palace,  in  the  story  I  told  you  the 
other  day,  must  have  sprung  up  there,  for  in  the 
church  there  are  jewels  and  gold  almost  wherever 
you  lay  your  hand.  There  are  pictures  of  the 
Virgin  Mary  and  Jesus,  all  over  the  walls,  and 
around  them  are  hung  strings  of  diamonds,  and 
rubies,  and  pearls,  such  as  you  never  saw.    Peo- 


MICHAEL  MICHAELOVITCH.  119 

pie  go  in  and  out  all  the  time,  crossing  themselves 
as  you  saw  Bridget  do  when  she  took  you  to  her 
church,  and  kneeling  down  before  crosses  or  pic- 
tures of  Christ,  praying  aloud. 

"  You  would  think  with  all  this  splendor  in  the 
churches,  that  the  whole  city  must  be  like  them, 
and  yet  when  you  have  gone  out  from  the  great 
walls  which  surround  the  Kremlin,  though  you 
can  still  see  many  beautiful  buildings,  the  houses 
in  which  the  poor  people  live  are  low  wooden 
huts,  not  much  better  than  the  Irish  shanties  you 
have  seen  on  some  of  the  rocky  ground  near 
Central  Park,  though  they  are  whitewashed,  and 
have  broad  red  and  blue  stripes  painted  on  them. 
The  streets  are  full  of  deep  ruts  and  holes,  and 
at  night  there  is  no  gas,  except  in  the  larger  streets, 
while  the  water  you  have  to  drink  is  carried 
about  in  laro;e  casks,  and  sold  for  so  much  a  sal- 
Ion.  People  don't  drink  much  of  it,  however,  for 
everybody  has  tea  instead.  Even  if  you  should 
ask  for  a  glass  of  water,  they  would  think  you 
couldn't  mean  it,  and  would  bring  you  a  glass  of 
tea  in  its  place,  for  in  Russia  they  don't  drink  tea 
from  cups,  but  from  tumblers  ;  and  after  it  is 
sweetened,  they  put  in,  instead  of  milk,  a  slice  of 
lemon,  which  grandma,  I  dare  say,  would  think 
had  spoiled  the  whole  thing. 

"  You  have  been  into  Taylor's  Saloon  with  me 


120  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

to  get  ice-cream,  and  thought  everything  was 
very  fine  ;  but  you  ■would  open  your  eyes  a  good 
deal  wider  if  you  could  see  a  Russian  Saloon,  or 
Traktir,  as  they  call  it.  The  great  Moskovski 
Traktir  is  the  handsomest  of  all.  The  carpet  is 
thick  and  soft,  so  that  you  hardly  hear  a  foot- 
step. Each  table  has  a  sofa  before  it  covered 
with  snow-white  cloth  ;  everything  is  in  white, 
to  match  the  snow  you  see  from  the  windows  ; 
even  the  waiters  wear  white  trousers,  and  if  you 
wish,  bring  you  such  things  to  eat  as  you  never 
heard  of,  —  soup  made  of  peppermint  water,  and 
fish,  with  lumps  of  ice,  and  green  leaves  floating 
around  in  it,  which  tastes  just  as  badly  as  it 
sounds ;  and  caviare,  which  is  the  roe  of  a  great 
fish  called  the  sturoeon.  Mamma  used  to  give 
you  the  roe  of  the  shad  last  spring,  because  it 
had  no  bones  in  it,  and  you  never  liked  it  much 
you  know  ;  so  you  can  think  how  it  would  taste 
if  vou  had  to  eat  it  raw,  with  only  a  little  salt 
sprinkled  on  it.  The  Russians  think  it  very 
delicious,  and  eat  it  fresh  on  bread  and  butter,  or 
salted  down  and  cut  in  slices. 

"  Some  of  these  days  I  shall  tell  you  more 
about  their  queer  ways  of  cooking.  I  tried  a 
great  many  things  from  curiosity,  but  the  white- 
dressed  waiters  almost  always  had  to  take  them 
awav  after  the  first  taste,  and  bring  me  some- 


MICHAEL  MICHAELOVITCH.  121 

thing  cooked  in  French  instead  of  Russian  fash- 
ion. Every  Traktir  has  its  organ,  like  those  the 
hand-organ  men  carry  about  in  New  York,  only 
a  dozen  times  larger ;  and  as  you  sit  and  eat,  or 
drink  tea,  or  smoke,  they  are  always  grinding 
away  at  tunes  of  which  the  Russians  never  seem 
to  tire,  for  they  sit  and  listen  with  half-shut  eyes, 
or  talk  in  almost  a  whisper,  so  as  not  to  lose  the 
music,  hours  at  a  time. 

"  One  thing  you  would  like  better  than  any- 
thing I  have  yet  told  you,  and  here  comes  in  my 
story  for  which  you  have  been  waiting  a  long 
time.  In  the  great  squares  of  the  city,  and 
sometimes  outside  the  walls,  when  winter  has 
come  on,  and  everything  is  frozen  solid,  they  put 
together  boards  and  posts,  and  make  a  sort  of 
wooden  hill  with  steep  sides.  On  this  hill  they 
put  snow,  and  pour  water  over  it,  which  freezes 
at  once,  making  a  firm,  smooth,  ice  hill,  from  top 
to  bottom.  Children  and  grown  people  come 
here  with  their  sleds,  and  from  morning  till  night 
there  is  a  continual  sliding  down.  At  the  foot 
of  every  ice  hill  is  a  little  building,  where,  if 
you  are  a  stranger,  or  do  not  own  a  sled,  you 
can  hire  one  for  a  few  copecks,  and  at  the  very 
top  is  a  platform,  on  which  you  can  stand  and 
rest  after  drawing  it  up. 

"  You  would  think  that  many  people  would  be 


122  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

hurt,  but  they  seldom  are,  for  it  is  a  rule  tliat 
no  one  can  sliile  clown  the  side  u[)  which  you 
walk  with  your  sled.  I  had  coasted  down  this 
hill  back  of  grandpa's  many  a  time  when  a  bf)y, 
and  had  read  of  these  Russian  ice  hills ;  so  as 
soon  as  the  first  one  was  ready  for  anybody  and 
everybody,  I  went  there  one  afternoon,  hired 
a  little  sled  for  a  few  copecks,  and  started  up." 

"  What  are  copecks?  "  asked  Ainslee. 

"  Little  copper  coins,  like  pennies,  only  very 
thin  and  small,"  said  Uncle  Ainslee,  "  and  I  al- 
ways cari'ied  some  in  my  pockets.  Well,  as  I 
said,  I  hired  my  sled  and  walked  slowly  up  the 
ice  hill,  holding  by  the  railing  at  the  side,  for  it 
.  was  very  slippery.  At  the  top  I  stopped  to 
think.  I'm  a  big  man,  you  know,  and  my  sled 
was  very  small.  I  sat  down  on  it,  and  then  the 
question  was,  what  to  do  with  my  legs.  If  I 
doubled  them  up  they  were  in  my  way,  and  if  I 
stretched  them  out  full  length  I  was  sure  they 
would  be  run  over.  One  old  llussian  with  a 
long  white  beard,  and  wrapped  in  a  very  dirty 
sheepskin,  went  down  belly-gutter,  as  if  he  were 
not  over  ten  years  old." 

"  What's  belly-gutter  ?  "  said  Ainslee. 

"  Ho  !  "  said  Sinny,  who  had  been  listening 
with  great  attention,  "  don't  you  know  ?  It's 
sliding  down  hill  on  your  belly." 


MICHAEL  MICHAELOVITCH.  123 

"  Well,  but,"  said  Ainslee,  "  don't  it  hurt  ?  I 
should  think  it  would  rub  all  your  skin  off." 

*■'  No,"  said  Uncle  Ainslee,  laughing.  "  You 
have  the  sled  under  you,  but  still  I  never  liked 
it  as  well  as  the  common  way." 

"  Oh,"  said  Ainslee,  "  I  didn't  know  you 
meant  on  a  sled." 

"  Yes,"  Uncle  Ainslee  went  on.  "I  watched 
this  old  man  to  the  bottom,  and  then  concluded 
I'd  kneel  down  on  mine,  and  start  in  that  way. 
So  off  I  went ;  but  somehow  or  other,  either 
Russian  sleds  were  different  from  American  ones, 
or  else  I  had  forgotten  how  to  manage,  for  all  at 
once,  there  was  my  sled  going  down  without  me, 
and  I  was  holding  on  to  the  railing  to  keep  my- 
self from  following  after. 

"  I  picked  myself  up,  quite  ashamed,  but 
nobody  laughed.  Nobody  does  laugh  much  in 
Russia,  and  here  they  were  all  too  busy  with 
sliding  to  think  about  anybody's  tumble.  A 
little  boy  who  had  seen  my  fall,  as  he  dragged 
up  his  own  sled,  ran  down  after  mine,  and 
brought  up  both  together.  He  didn't  look  like 
a  Russian  to  me,  though  he  wore  the  Russian 
dress,  and  said  '  No,'  in  Russian,  when  I  handed 
him  some  copecks  for  his  trouble.  I  felt  sure 
then  that  he  was  not  a  native,  for  they  always 
take  all  they  can  get,  whether  rich  or  poor. 


124  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

*'  After  I  had  j)ut  myself  like  a  tailor  on  my 
sled,  so  that  my  great  legs  need  not  be  in  my 
way,  we  slid  down  side  by  side,  faster  and  faster, 
to  the  bottom.  Going  up,  I  said  a  few  words  in 
German  to  the  boy,  who  looked  pleased,  and  an- 
swered at  once.  So  we  went  on  talking,  and  I 
found  his  father  had  come  from  Germany  when 
this  boy  was  oidy  a  baby,  many  years  before, 
and  was  now  a  tea  merchant  in  Moscow. 

"  I  saw  him  every  day  after  this,  and  almost 
always  with  another  boy,  a  real  little  Russian, 
twelve  or  foiirteen  years  old,  who  could  speak 
nothing  else,  and  who  was  the  son  of  a  rich  serf, 
or  slave,  —  so  Hans  told  me.  Hans  was  the 
German  boy's  name,  and  Michael  Michaelovitch 
the  Russian's ;  and  after  a  little  time  we  became 
such  good  friends,  that  he  asked  me  home  with 
him.  There  was  only  his  father  there,  for  his 
mother  and  baby  sister  had  died  not  long  after 
they  came  to  Russia ;  and  though  they  lived  in 
a  splendid  house,  there  were  only  servants  about 
them,  and  they  were  often  very  lonely.  I  went 
to  see  them  almost  daily,  and  always  found  this 
little  Russian  boy  with  Hans. 

"  One  day  I  had  taken  off  my  great  fur-lined 
coat,  and  laid  it  down  in  an  outer  room.  As  it 
happened,  I  had  put  my  watch,  which  had  just 
been  mended,  into  the  breast-pocket,  in  a  little 


MICHAEL  MICHAELOVITCH.  125 

box,  and  did  not  think  to  take  it  out.  I  was 
there  an  hour  or  two,  and  it  was  only  on  leaving 
that  I  remembered  it.  I  put  my  hand  in  the 
pocket :  nothing  there.  Then  I  felt  in  each  one, 
for  I  knew  that  I  had  it  as  I  came  into  the  house. 

"  '  What  is  the  matter  ?  '  said  Hans,  Avho  had 
followed  me. 

"  I  told  him  the  trouble,  saying  also,  that  if  I 
had  not  known  it  to  be  there  when  I  came  in,  I 
should  not  have  spoken  of  it  to  them,  but  I  was 
afraid  some  of  the  servants  had  taken  it. 

"  'All  Russians  steal ! '  said  Hans's  father, '  and 
the  watch  will  be  found  here,  I  am  sure.  Mi- 
chael has  it,  probably,  for  he  has  always  wanted 
Hans's,  and  search  shall  be  made  at  once.' 

"  Earl}'  next  morning  it  was  bi'ought  to  me, 
and  I  went  at  once  to  Hans,  to  ask  where  they 
had  found  it.  Michael,  the  Russian  boy,  was 
being  led  away  by  a  gray-coated  ])oliceman, 
looking  pale  and  frightened  ;  and  as  I  went  in, 
Hans  met  me  at  the  door. 

"  '  You  have  it,'  said  he  ;  '  all  Russians  are 
alike,  and  Michael,  who  stole  it,  will  be  well  paid.' 

"  '  How  ?  '  said  I.  '  You  would  not  send  so 
young  a  boy  to  prison  ?  ' 

"  '  No,'  said  Hans ;  '  he  is  on  his  way  to  the 
punishment-house ;  his  back  will  pay  for  what 
he  has  done.' 


126  THK   AINSLEK   STORIES. 

"  '  Is  he  to  1k'  \vlii|)|)i.Hl  ?  '  said  I. 

"  '  A  hundred  strokes,  more  or  less  ! '  answered 
Hans.  '  He  is  a  serf,  and  they  will  not  be  spar- 
ing.' 

"  '  I  do  not  want  him  to  be  whipped,'  said  I ; 
'  that  is  no  way  to  make  him  better.  I  must  go 
after  him.' 

"  '  No,  no,'  said  Hans  ;  '  all  serfs  are  flogged  ; 
that  is  the  only  way  to  treat  them.' 

" '  But  I  cannot  have  it,'  said  I  ;  '  come  with 
me  at  once,  Hans,  so  that  you  can  interpret  for 
me.     He  must  be  punished  in  some  other  way.' 

"  Hans  held  back,  but  finally  yielded,  and  we 
hurried  alonji  toward  a  low  building  in  one  of 
the  side  streets  ofi^  the  great  square.  In  Russia, 
I  must  tell  you,  they  had  until  a  few  years  ago 
many  thousands  of  slaves,  or  serfs,  as  they  called 
them,  who  had  suffered  for  many,  many  years, 
till  they  were  made  free,  as  our  good  President 
Lincoln  made  ours  free.  If  a  slave  displeased 
his  master  or  mistress,  he  could  be  sent  to  a 
punishment-house  with  a  note,  and  receive  as 
many  lashes  as  had  been  ordered.  Sometimes 
the  slaves  deserved  punishment,  but  quite  as  often 
they  were  sent  there  by  cruel  and  unreasonable 
owners,  and  whipped  very  dreadfully. 

"  As  we  went  into  this  place,  Michael  was  being 
tied  to  a  post,  while  a  man  stood  by  with  a  long 


MICHAEL  MICHAELOVITCH.  127 

willow  rod  in  his  hand,  just  ready  to  begin  the 
beating.  There  were  blood-stains  on  the  post, 
and  from  another  room  I  heard  the  sound  of  fall- 
ing strokes,  and  a  low  cry  now  and  then.  It  was 
sickening.  Hans  went  forward  to  the  policeman 
who  stood  at  the  upj)er  end  of  the  room  ;  he 
spoke  in  Russian,  so  that  I  could  not  easily  un- 
derstand, but  the  man  seemed  to  object. 

"  '  He  says,'  said  Hans,  '  that  the  boy  was  sent 
here  lor  punishment,  and  must  receive  it.  If  I 
had  money,  though,  he  could  easily  be  bribed.' 

"  This  made  matters  easy.  In  a  few  moments 
I  had  handed  him  one  of  the  dirty  bits  of  Russian 
paper  money,  Michael  was  untied,  and  we  were 
out  of  the  low,  stifling  room,  into  the  clear  cold 
air  again.  Michael  said  not  a  word,  but  looked 
at  me,  as  if  he  could  not  understand  things  at 
all.  When  we  had  reached  the  house,  I  told  him, 
partly  in  the  little  Russian  I  knew,  but  more 
with  Hans's  help,  why  I  had  saved  him  from  this 
dreadful  punishment,  and  that  I  hoped  he  would 
always  hereafter  be  an  honest  boy. 

"  He  said  nothing,  but  as  I  went  away,  burst 
into  tears,  and  kissed  my  cloak,  as  serfs  often  do, 
so  that  I  felt  sure  he  was  grateful  for  what  I  had 
done. 

''  It  was  only  a  day  or  two  afterwai'd,  that, 
turning  a  corner  in  one  of  those  queer  little  Rus- 


128  Till-:   AINSLKK   STORIES. 

siaii  c'luriages  which  they  call  droslikys,  I  was 
tluown  out,  and  sprained  my  right  arm  and  wrist 
severely.  Hans's  lather,  when  he  heard  of  it, 
would  not  allow  me  to  remain  at  the  hotel,  but 
took  me  at  once  to  his  house.  Michael  was 
my  little  servant,  iind  for  a  fortnight  waited  ui)i)ii 
me  as  nobody  had  ever  done  before.  He  taught 
me  a  good  deal  of  Russian,  and  through  lung- 
days  Hans  and  ^Michael  and  I  became  ver}-  inti- 
mate. I  found  that  Michael  had  never  been  told 
b}'  any  one  how  wicked  it  was  to  steal,  and  had 
been  tempted  by  the  shining  watch  so  strongly 
that  he  could  hardly  help  taking  it.  He  was  a 
very  bright,  quick  boy,  and  before  we  parted  I 
think  he  understood  very  well  how  good  it  is  to 
be  honest  for  the  sake  of  honesty,  and  not  through 
fear.  I  told  them  of  America,  and  of  all  the 
strange  countries  I  had  seen,  and  both  boys  wished 
that  they  could  leave  Russia  and  come  here. 

"  The  day  before  I  was  to  leave,  Michael  came 
to  me  and  begged  me  to  buy  him  and  take  him 
with  me. 

"  '  I  cannot,'  I  told  him  ;  '  you  know  you  have 
another  master,  and  no  foreigner  can  buy  or  own 
a  serf.     I  wish  I  could.' 

*'  Poor  Michael !  He  had  set  his  heart  on  be- 
ing bought  by  me,  and  could  not  bear  to  be  dis- 
appointed. 


MICHAEL  MICHAELOVITCH.  129 

"  '  Some  day  you  may  be  free,'  I  said,  '  and  if 
you  are  always  honest  and  true,  you  will  be 
happy,  whether  free  or  not.' 

"  This  sprain  had  kept  me  in  Moscow  much 
longer  than  I  intended,  and  I  hurried  away,  and 
started  on  my  homeward  journey  only  a  few  days 
afterward. 

"  In  the  course  of  two  or  three  years,  the  good 
news  came  to  us  that  all  the  Russian  serfs  had 
been  freed.  I  thought  then  of  Michael,  and  hoped 
he  would  have  more  chance  to  grow  up  a  good 
man,  than  if  he  had  still  been  a  slave. 

"  Last  spring,  just  before  I  left  San  Francisco, 
walking  down  by  the  docks  one  day,  I  saw,  over- 
seeing the  landing  from  a  ship  of  some  chests  of 
tea,  a  young  man  whose  face  I  was  sure  I  knew. 
By  and  by  he  turned,  and  came  up  the  quay,  and 
I  looked  at  him  earnestly.  As  he  saw  me  he 
stopped ;  then  running  forward,  bowed  low,  and 
touched  his  forehead  to  my  coat-flaps,  as  the  Rus- 
sians do.  I  knew  Michael  in  a  moment,  and 
when  I  called  him  by  name,  he  answered  me  in 
very  good  English,  which  astonished  me,  as 
when  I  knew  him,  he  could  speak  nothing  but 
Russian.  When  I  had  taken  him  up  to  the 
hotel  he  told  me  the  w^hole  stoiy. 

"  After  I  left,  Hans  had  been  so  eager  to  learn 
English,  that  his  father  had  engaged  an  English 

9 


130  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

lady  as  teacher,  wlio  oaine  to  live  ■with  them,  and 
s})oke  nothing  else  to  Hans.  Michael,  who  was 
always  with  him,  of  course  learned  it  also,  and 
the  governess,  iinding  him  to  be  a  very  bright, 
intelligent  boy,  had  taught  him  to  read  and 
write  English. 

"  As  Hans  grew  older,  his  eagerness  to  visit 
America  increased,  and  at  last,  just  after  the 
emancipation  of  the  serfs,  he  left  Russia,  and  af- 
ter travelling  through  America,  settled  down  in 
San  Francisco  as  a  tea  merchant.  Michael  had 
shortly  after  come  over  to  be  his  clerk,  and  after 
his  story  was  ended,  I  went  with  him  to  Hans's 
store.  I  had  passed  it  many  a  time,  not  knowing 
M'hose  it  was,  and  you  can  think  what  a  pleasant 
meeting  I  had.  When  I  left  some  days  after- 
ward, they  gave  me  a  great  chest  of  Russian  tea. 
It  is  what  grandma  calls  her  headache  tea,  be- 
cause she  thinks  it  cures  her  headaches.  But 
see  how  late  it  is.     We  must  go  up  to  dinner." 

"  He  tells  good  stories  —  don't  he  ?  "  said  Ains- 
lee  to  Sinny,  as  Uncle  Ainslee  got  up  and  walked 
slowly  on. 

"  I  guess  he  does,"  said  Sinny.  "  I  wish  I  was 
a  Russian." 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Ainslee. 

"  'Cause  I  love  tea,"  said  Sinny,  "  and  mother 
don't  ever  let  me  have  only  the  bottom  o'  the 
cup." 


MICHAEL  MICHAELOVITCH.  131 

"  Well,"  said  Ainslee,  as  they  reached  grand- 
ma's door,  "  you  grow  up  fast  as  ever  you  can, 
and  go  there  when  you  get  big,  and  maybe  you 
can  be  one  o'  those  waiters  with  white  trousers, 
and  drink  it  all  the  time.     Good-by,  Sinny." 

"  Good-by  said  Sinny."  "  I  do  believe  I'm 
going  to  be  a  Russian." 


X. 

TWO    PUMPKIN    PIES. 

November  came,  gray  and  chilly.  Long  ago 
Ainslee  would  have  been  at  home  in  New  York, 
but  grandtiither  and  grandmother  desired  that 
once  more  all  the  children  should  meet  for  a 
Thanksgiving  dinner  at  the  old  homestead.  Un- 
cle Arthur,  the  oldest  of  all,  was  cominor  from 
far  out  West,  with  his  wife  and  children  ;  Uncle 
John  from  nearer  home ;  and  with  Uncle  Ains- 
lee, who  had  not  been  with  them  at  Thanks- 
giving time  for  ten  years,  and  Ainslee's  father 
and  mother,  there  would  be  such  a  party  as  one 
doesn't  often  see. 

Dr.  Blimber,  the  largest  gobble  turkey  in  the 
barn-yard,  received  a  double  measure  of  corn 
every  day,  and  Avould  come  very  near  being  a 
twenty-five  pounder,  everybody  said  ;  while  old 
Speckle's  most  promising  chickens,  shut  up  in  a 
coop,  received  daily  rations  of  Indian  stirabout 
from  the  hands  of  Ainslee  and  Sinny.  On  the 
barn-floor  piles  of  yellow  pumpkins  lay ;  the 
apple  bins  wei'e  filled  with   wonderful  red  Spit- 


TWO   PUMPKIN  PIES.  133 

zenbergs  and  pumpkin  sweets  ;  and  the  old  cider- 
mill  creaked  from  morning  till  night  Avhile  Mr. 
Culligan  and  Joe  turned  the  arms  of  the  great 
press. 

Ainslee,  in  warm  coat  and  mittens,  divided  his 
time  about  equally  between  the  aquarium,  the 
cider  barrels,  and  the  kitchen,  where  such  won- 
ders in  cookery  were  going  on,  that  he  said  it 
was  almost  as  nice  as  living  in  a  baker's  shop. 
Every  kind  of  pie  and  cake  which  grandma  and 
Nancy  pushed  into  the  great  brick  oven,  had  a 
little  one  to  match  ;  and  Ainslee  being  generous, 
and  always  ready  to  share  his  goodies,  Sinny's 
face  came  to  wear  an  expectant  expression  ;  and 
between  the  claims  of  the  straw  which  he  always 
had  by  him  for  sucking  cider,  and  the  attractions 
of  the  little  tin  pie-pans,  he  really  suffered. 
Fortunately  the  inhabitants  of  the  aquarium 
Avere  all  in  delicate  health,  owing  to  the  fact  that 
Sinny  had  emptied  the  salt-box  into  it,  thinking 
that'  as  the  sheep  were  fond  of  it,  there  was  no 
reason  why  the  fish  shouldn't  be.  Uncle  Ains- 
lee finding  it  out,  had  at  once  changed  the 
water  for  them  ;  but  one  tadpole  had  died  imme- 
diately, the  turtle  hadn't  put  his  head  out  for 
two  days  afterward,  and  the  shiners  hid  under 
the  stones,  and  only  swam  out  when  poked  with 
a  little  stick.      Ponto  having  upset  the  flower- 


lo4  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

pot,  the  two  black  crickets  had  run  away,  and 
probably  gone  into  winter-quarters ;  and  the 
brown  worm,  owing  to  cold  weather  and  the 
want  of  leaves,  had  shriveled  all  up,  and  would 
never  be  anything  but  a  skin.  Thus  an  amount 
of  running  was  required,  which  kep^  them  with 
such  appetites  that  Nancy  said  "  'Twould  be  just 
as  easy  to  feed  a  regiment  as  them  two  little 
stuffers,  and  why  they  didn't  bust  and  done  with 
it,  she  couldn't  see." 

Summer  plays  were  past.  The  brook,  swollen 
full  by  autumn  rains,  was  almost  ready  to  be 
frozen  over.  The  trees  had  put  off  their  livery 
of  gold  and  scarlet,  and  stood  bare  and  brown  ; 
while  every  stray  nut  had  been  gathered  in  by 
the  squirrels,  who  still  ran  up  and  down  the  great 
butternut-tree  on  sunshiny  days.  Ainslee's  gar- 
den, in  Avhich  he  had  planted  beans,  a  potatoe, 
and  a  sunflower,  had  for  some  reason  not  done 
well.  Careful  digcrino;  had  resulted  in  the  dis- 
covery  of  two  small  potatoes,  which  had  imme- 
diately been  boiled  and  eaten,  and  one  sunflower 
hung  in  the  barn,  drying  for  the  hens. 

This  afternoon  grandpa  was  going  to  the  depot 
for  Uncle  Arthur,  but  the  train  did  not  get  in 
till  nearly  six  o'clock,  and  all  the  day  lay  before 
them.  So  mamma  proposed,  that,  as  it  was 
quite  pleasant,  the  two  children  should  take  a 


TWO   PUMPKIN  PIES.  135 

basket,  go  to  the  meadow  where  the  cows  pas- 
tured in  summer,  and  gather  beech-nuts  from 
the  wooded  hill  which  rose  at  its  back. 

Grandma  gave  them  each  cookies  and  an  apple 
turn-over,  and  they  set  out,  swinging  their  bas- 
kets, and  taking  little  runs  now  and  then  from 
sheer  happiness.  Through  the  meadow  and  up 
the  little  hill  was  only  a  short  walk,  hardly  half 
a  mile,  but  there  were  very  few  nuts  to  be  found. 
The  school-boys  had  been  there  before  them, 
and  only  a  stray  One  now  and  then  was  found. 

"  I  wouldn't  be  such  a  greedy  boy,  not  to 
leave  a  single  nut  for  anybody,"  said  Ainslee, 
much  disgusted. 

"  Yes,  you  would,"  said  Sinny.  "  You  would 
n't  leave  one  here  now  if  you  could  find  any." 

"  Well,"  said  Ainslee,  struck  by  this  new  view 
of  the  case,  "  I'm  a  little  boy  and  don't  ought 
to.  Big  boys  ought  to  leave  nuts  for  little  boys, 
but  little  boys  don't  ever  have  to  leave  'em  for 
big  ones." 

"  I'm  tired  of  hunting  for  'em,  any  way,"  said 
Sinny.  "  Let's  sit  down  on  this  moss  and  eat 
our  cookies." 

So  the  two  children  sat  down  under  a  great 
beech-tree,  and  began  to  eat  with  as  much  enjoy- 
ment as  if  they  had  not  breakfasted  two  or  three 
hours  before. 


136  Till':   AIXSLEE  STOHIES. 

Ruttliiiij;  down  on  Ainslec's  head  came  the 
husk  of  a  nut. 

"  You  stop  tiring  things,"  said  lie,  turning  sud- 
denly upon  Sinny,  who  sat  blissfully  rocking  back 
and  forth. 

"  I  ain't  firino;  uothinix  at  all,"  answered  Sin- 
ny,  when  down  came  another  between  them. 
Ainslee  looked  up,  and  a  very  red  squirrel 
looked  down,  and  then  ran  to  the  top  of  the 
tree,  chattering  as  he  went. 

"  I  guess  he  lives  in  that  tree,"  said  Sinny. 
"  Maybe  he's  the  Little  Squirrel  that  didn't 
know  how  to  get  his  own  nuts,  that  3'our  Uncle 
Ainslee  telled  about." 

"  Well,  but,"  said  Ainslee,  "  this  one  has  got 
nuts  ;  so  it  can't  be  the  one,  unless  he  learned 
better  after  his  father  and  mother  was  dead." 

"  I  guess  he  did,"  said  Sinny,  pulling  away  at 
some  dead  leaves  and  sticks,  and  uncovering  a 
hole  at  the  foot  of  the  tree.  "My!  you  just 
look  in  there  !  " 

Ainslee  turned  and  saw  a  great  pile  of  beech 
and  butternuts  filling  up  completely  this  hole 
under  the  root,  and  putting  in  his  hand,  drew 
out  as  many  as  he  could  hold. 

"•  Oh,  there's  heaps  of  'em,"  said  he  ;  "  let's 
fill  our  baskets  full." 

The    squirrel    seemed  to  think    matters  were 


TWO   PUMPKIN   PIES.  137 

going  all  wrong,  for  he  scolded  and  scolded,  and 
once  ran  partly  down  the  tree,  as  if  he  would  in- 
terfere if  he  dared.  The  baskets  were  filled  in  a 
trice,  and  both  boys  turned  toward  home.  Ains- 
lee  walked  slowly  on  till  they  came  to  the  open 
meadow,  and  then  sat  down  suddenly  on  a  stone. 

"  We've  taken  away  most  all  the  squirrel's 
nuts,"  said  he  ;  "  and  he  can't  get  any  more 
'cause  it's  most  winter." 

"  There's  some  left,"  said  Sinny. 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Ainslee  ;  "  but  when  they're 
all  gone,  what'll  he  do  ?  " 

"  I  guess  maybe  the  other  squirrels  will  let 
him  have  some  o'  theirs,"  said  Sinny,  after  think- 
ing a  moment. 

"  I  don't  believe  they  would,  'cause  they've 
all  got  wives  and  children,  and  couldn't  spare 
any,"  said  Ainslee.     "  I  guess  I'll  put  'em  back." 

"  Oh  I  wouldn't,"  said  Sinny.  "  If  it's  Little 
Squirrel,  he  oughter  be  paid  for  being  so  lazy  ; 
he  used  to  be  awful  lazy." 

"  So  he  did,"  answered  Ainslee,  getting  up 
and  walking  on  a  few  steps,  then  turning  again. 
"  He  ain't  lazy  now,  any  way,"  said  he,  "  'cause 
he's  picked  all  these,  and  it  would  hurt  him  to 
have  to  starve  to  death." 

"  Well,"  said  Sinny,  who  seemed  to  think  of 
nothing  more  to  say  against  it,  "  let's  hurry,  then.'' 


138  TlIK  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

Back  to  the  liill  the  two  cliildren  trotted,  put 
every  nut  into  the  hole,  even  including  the  few 
they  had  picked  up.  In  the  very  bottom  of  one 
of  the  baskets  still  lay  half  a  cooky. 

'•  111  put  that  in  too,"  said  Ainslee  ;  "  maybe 
he  never  had  a  cooky  ; "  and  he  covered  the  whole 
with  the  leaves  and  sticks  thej'  had  pulled  aside 
a  little  time  before,  and  then  started  again  for 
home,  with  a  very  happy  face. 

"  Why,  how  bright  you  look,"  said  mamma, 
meeting  them  at  the  front  gate.  "  Uncle  John 
has  come,  and  little  John  and  Lizzie  are  in  a 
hurry  to  see  you." 

Sinny  turned,  and  ran  toward  home,  as  if  he 
thought  his  seed  times  were  over,  now  that  other 
children  had  come,  and  Ainslee  went  into  the 
house.  The  few  hours  before  the  train's  coming 
passed  quickly  in  showing  the  swing  and  aqua- 
rium ;  and  when  the  three  western  cousins  ap- 
peared, very  little  tired  with  their  long  journey, 
there  was,  after  the  first  shyness  wore  off,  a  per- 
fect bedlam,  which  was  only  silenced  by  Uncle 
Ainslee  iioino;  away  with  them,  and  telling  a 
story,  which  kept  them  perfectly  quiet  till  bed- 
time. 

The  few  days  before  Thanksgiving  went  rap- 
idly by.  Sinny  found  himself  quite  as  much  in 
demand  as  before,  and  the  seven  children  were 


TWO   PUMPKIN  PIES.  139 

"  everywhere  to  onct,"  Mr.  Culligan  said,  "  and 
had  hked  to  pulled  near  all  the  oats  out,  gettin' 
straws  to  suck  cider  with."  At  last  came  the 
day,  —  cold,  to  be  sure,  but  bright  and  sunny. 

"  Put  on  my  biggest  jacket,  nurse,"  said  Ains- 
lee,  as  he  was  being  dressed  for  church.  "  Un- 
cle Ainslee  says  boys  always  burst  the  buttons 
off  their  jackets  Thanksgiving  Day." 

"  It's  no  such  a  thing,"  said  nurse,  "  unless 
they're  like  pigs.  You  might,  though,  —  a  boy 
that  has  so  much  to  do  with  'em." 

Ainslee  was  about  to  answer  this  rather  dis- 
agreeable speech  angrily,  but  grandpa's  voice  was 
heard'  from  the  hall,  asking  if  every  one  was 
ready,  and  he  ran  down  to  join  the  other  children. 
They  did  not  go  to  the  church  over  the  river  to- 
day, but  down  to  the  village,  and  there  were 
three  pews  full  of  Grandpa  Walton's  children  and 
grandchildren.  Ainslee  understood  almost  all  of 
Mr.  Parker's  sermon,  and  was  very  much  inter- 
ested in  hearing  how  the  poor  Pilgrims  at  Plym- 
outh had  to  eat  just  as  little  as  they  could  live 
on,  for  a  long,  long  time,  till  at  last  the  ship  came 
sailing  in  from  England,  and  they  had  a  real 
Thanksgiving  time.  Toward  the  very  end,  how- 
ever, he  couldn't  help  thinking  how  Dr.  Blimber 
would  look  all  stretched  out  on  a  platter,  and 
whether  Mrs.  Blimber  would  know  him  if  she 
should  see  him. 


140  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

Church  ciuled  cjuickly,  and  Ainslee,  as  he  took 
his  father's  hand,  found  that  Mr.  Parker  was  go- 
ing home  with  them.  Such  a  dcHcious  smell  as 
tliere  was  all  through  the  house  !  Dinner  was 
not  ready  till  two,  but  the  smell  was  almost  a 
dinner  in  itself.  At  last  the  door  opened  into 
the  dining-room,  and  there  was  such  a  long  table 
set  for  fourteen  people,  with  a  smaller  one  close 
by,  for  the  five  children.  Ainslee  being  the 
youngest,  and  there  not  being  room  for  him  with 
the  children,  sat  at  the  big  table,  between  Mr. 
Parker  and  Uncle  Ainslee  ;  and  while  grandpa 
carved  Dr.  B limber,  took  the  opportunity  to  find 
out  just  exactly  how  his  aunts  and  uncles  looked. 
By  and  by  his  plate  came  to  him  with  a  nice 
piece  of  white  meat,  and  all  sorts  of  vegetables. 
Ainslee  was  very  fond  of  almost  every  kind  but 
carrots,  and  there  on  his  plate  was  at  least  half  of 
one,  which  somebody,  not  knowing  his  tastes, 
had  put  there.  Ainslee  tasted  his  turkey,  but 
the  great,  bright,  yellow  carrot  took  away  all  his 
appetite. 

"  I  can't  stand  it,"  said  he  to  himself  "  Fll 
eat  it  up  just  as  fast  as  ever  I  can,  so's  to  get  it 
out  of  the  way,"  and  he  swallowed  it  in  great 
mouthfnls. 

"  Why  !  "  said  grandma,  looking  from  her  end 
of  the  table,  "  how  the  dear  boy  loves  carrot ! 
Do  give  him  another,  grand|)a." 


TWO   PUMPKIN  PIES.  141 

Ainslee  laid  down  his  knife  and  fork,  and  burst 
into  a  roar. 

"  My  dear  cliild,'"  said  mamma,  getting  up 
hastily  and  coming  round  to  him,  "  what  is  the 
matter  ?  " 

"  I  don't  want  another  !  I  can't  eat  another!  " 
howled  Ainslee.     "  I'm  sick  now." 

"  Don't  want  another  what  ?  "  said  mamma, 
who,  busy  talking,  had  not  noticed  grandma's  re- 
mark. 

"  Another  carrot,"  said  Ainslee.  "  I've  eated 
one,  just  as  fast,  so's  not  to  have  to  look  at  it, 
and  I  can't  eat  any  more." 

"  You  need  not,"  said  mamma,  soothingly, 
while  such  a  laugh  went  round  the  table,  that 
Ainslee,  indignant  at  first,  finally  joined  in,  and 
laughed  harder  than  anybody.  By  and  by  the 
table  was  cleared,  and  Mary  brought  in  and 
placed  before  grandma  an  enormous  pumpkin  pie, 
baked  in  a  very  large,  shallow  milk-pan.  Ains- 
lee was  so  taken  up  with  this,  that  he  had  no 
eyes  for  the  smaller  pies,  or  the  round  plum- 
pudding  before  grandpa  ;  and  he  was  still  more 
surprised,  wlien  grandpa,  filling  his  glass,  said, — 

"  Let  us  drink  to  Pumpkin  Pie." 

Everybody  stood  up,  and  everybody  laughed  a 
little  as  they  drank,  though  Mr.  Parker  seemed 
a  little  puzzled,  and  Ainslee  thought  it  so  mys- 
terious that  he  could  not  keep  still. 


142  THE  AIXSLEE  STORIES. 

*'  What  makes  j-ou  drink  to  pumpkin  pie, 
grandpa  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Tell  him,  father,"  said  Uncle  Arthur.  "  This 
generation  should  know  all  about  it  as  well  as 
we." 

"  One  of  you  boys  can,"  said  grandpa.  "I'm 
out  of  the  way  of  telling  stories.  You  may  do 
it,  Ainslee." 

"  Don't  you  do  any  such  thing,"  said  grandma, 
half  laughing,  and  quite  red  in  the  face.  "  What 
do  you  suppose  tliese  children  will  think  ?  " 

"  We  will  find  out  pretty  soon,"  said  Uncle 
Ainslee.  "  When  I've  eaten  my  share,  mother, 
every  one  who  doesn't  know  about  it  shall  be 
told." 

So,  when  the  great  pie  had  gone  about  the 
table,  and  everybody  was  busily  picking  out 
nuts,  Uncle  Ainslee  leaned  back  comfortably  in 
his  chair  and  began  :  — 

"  How  old  grandpa  was,  I  can't  exactly  say, 
and  how  old  grandma  was,  I  couldn't  tell  either ; 
but  it's  a  certain  fact  that  John  Walton  (that's 
grandpa)  was  the  handsomest  young  man  in  all 
Charleston,  and  Sybil  Huntingdon  (that's  grand- 
ma) the  very  prettiest  girl  in  Windsor.  Where 
they  met,  and  how  they  met,  grandpa  knows  bet- 
ter than  I  do  ;  but  he  at  once  fell  violently  in  love, 
and  when   Miss   Sybil  came  to  make  a  visit  at 


TWO  PUMPKIN  PIES.  143 

Charleston,  he  spent  so  much  money  in  fine 
clotlies,  that  he  came  veiy  near  havmg  none  at 
all  left.  Try  as  he  would,  grandpa  could  never 
find  out  whether  Miss  Sybil  cared  anything  for 
him  or  not ;  and  when  she  went  home  to  Wind- 
sor, she  left  such  an  uneasy,  uncomfortable,  wor- 
rying man  behind  her,  that  it's  a  wonder  how  he 
ever  got  through  the  two  months  which  followed. 
Finally,  quite  unable  to  bear  it  one  day  longer, 
he  made  up  his  mind  he  would  take  a  holiday, 
put  on  his  most  magnificent  suit  of  clothes,  ride 
up  to  Windsor,  and  ask  Miss  Sybil  if  she  would 
marry  him.  If  you  want  to  know  how  he  looked, 
children,  turn  round  a  moment." 

Everybody  turned  to  look  at  the  portrait  which 
hung  over  the  dining-room  mantel,  —  a  young 
man  with  bright  brown  eyes  and  hair  like  Uncle 
Ainslee,  dressed  in  a  very  short-waisted  blue  coat 
with  brass  buttons,  a  nankeen  vest,  from  which 
seemed  to  rush  out  three  full  cambric  ruffles,  and 
very  tight  breeches,  buckled  "at  the  knee  over 
some  equally  tight  black  silk  stockings. 

"Is  that  grandpa?"  said  all  the  children  to- 
gether. 

"  I  never  knew  that,"  said  Ainslee.  "  I 
thought  it  was  Abraham,  or  Noah,  or  somebody 
out  of  the  Bible." 

"Not  exactly,"  said  Uncle  Ainslee,  laughing 


144  TllH  AINSLEE   STORIES. 

at  o-raiulma's  ](^ok  of  astonishment  at  Ainsloc. 
"  That  is  oi-ancl|ia  in  his  courting  suit,  and  just  as 
he  looked  that  late  September  morning,  ever  and 
ever  so  many  years  ago,  when  he  stej)ped  into 
his  one-horse  chaise,  and  drove  along  the  beauti- 
ful river  road  to  Windsor.  He  made  believe  he 
was  enjoying  the  ride,  but  the  nearer  he  gf)t 
to  Windsor,  the  more  his  heart  went  pit-a-pat, 
till  at  last,  when  he  drove  up  Common  Hill,  and 
into  the  great  o;ate  back  of  Parson  Huntino-don's, 
he  had  almost  a  mind  to  drive  home  again  to 
Charleston  as  fast  as  he  could  20.  Old  Nat  met 
him  and  took  the  horse,  and  he  walked  round  to 
the  front  door.  There  sat  Miss  Sybil  at  the  par- 
lor window  with  great-graiidmotlier,  sewing,  and 
looking  so  lovely,  that  grandpa  thought  he  should 
certainly  die  if  she  said  '  No.'  In  he  went,  and 
Miss  Sybil  was  very  much  astonished  of  course, 
and  then  great-grandmother,  after  she  had  talked 
a  little  while,  said  she  must  go  and  see  about 
dinner,  and  so  left' them  together. 

"  Now  Miss  Sybil  was  very  famous  for  garden- 
ing, just  as  she  is  to  this  day,  and  she  always  had 
flowers  in  her  garden  to  the  last  moment  that 
Jack  Frost  would  allow  it.  So,  after  grandpa 
had  talked  about  the  weather  and  his  ride,  and 
told  her  how  all  his  relations  were,  he  stared  at 
her  in  such  a  dreadful   kind   of  wav    that   she 


TWO   PUMPKIN   PIES.  145 

turned  very  red,  and  dropped  her  work,  and  broke 
her  needle,  and  finally,  quite  desperate,  asked 
him  if  he  wouldn't  like  to  go  into  the  garden 
and  see  her  flowers.  Of  course  he  said  '  Yes,' 
and  out  they  both  went.  What  happened  then 
you  will  know  by  and  by. 

"  In  the  mean  time  great-grandmother  had 
given  black  Dilly  orders  about  the  dinner,  and 
gone  up  to  her  I'oom  to  put  on  her  best  cap,  and 
tell  great  grandpa,  that  John  Walton  had  come 
way  from  Charleston  to  see  Sybil,  and  she  should 
n't  wonder  if  they  were  going  to  settle  matters 
right  away. 

"  Now  black  Dilly  had  a  daughter  named 
Dolly,  then  about  ten  years  old,  whose  business 
was  to  set  tables,  run  of  errands,  etc.  If  Topsy 
had  only  been  written  about  then,  Dolly  certainly 
would  never  have  been  Dolly  any  more,  but 
Topsy  to  the  end  of  the  chapter,  for  if  she  could 
have  stood  on  her  head  while  setting  that  table, 
she  certainly  would  have  done  it.  As  it  was,  she 
had  a  sort  of  war-dance  over  every  knife  and 
fork  she  put  on,  and  had  her  ears  boxed  at  least 
twice  by  her  mother,  as  she  whirled  back  and 
forth  from  the  kitchen. 

"  At  last,  bread  and  butter,  and  everything, 
were  on  the  table,  and  Dilly  put  into  her  hands 
just  such  an  immense  pumpkin  pie  as  you  have 
10 


146  THE  AIXSLEE  STORIES. 

seen  to-day.  Dolly  had  got  half-way  across  the 
dining-room  with  it,  Avhen  Miss  Sybil's  gray  kit- 
ten raced  across  the  yard,  closely  pursued  by 
somebody's  dog.  Down  went  the  pumpkin  pie 
into  a  chair  standing  by  the  table,  and  off  went 
Dolly  to  think  nothing  more  of  pie  or  pie-plates 
till  dinner  was  ready,  and  Dilly  had  tired  herself 
out  with  callino;  her  to  come  and  wait.  Then  she 
took  her  station  near  great-grandmother,  with 
her  little  waiter  in  her  hand,  and  twisting  her 
woolly  head  half  off,  in  order  to  see  Mr.  Walton 
as  he  came  in.  Great-grandfather  took  his  place, 
and  waited  patiently  for  the  young  people,  and 
soon  Miss  Sybil  ap])eared,  and  sat  down  in  her 
usual  seat,  red*as  one  of  her  own  roses,  wdiile 
grandpa  walked  behind  her,  looking  happy  enough 
to  hug  the  whole  family,  but  so  blind  with  bash- 
fulness,  that  he  shook  hands  carefully  with  Dolly, 
and  said, '  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Huntingdon  ?  ' 
till  that  gentleman  tliought  him  the  craziest  lover 
he  had  ever  seen,  and  said,  — 

" '  Take  a  seat  ]Mr.  Walton ;  pray  take  a 
seat.' 

"  Mr.  Walton  drew  out  the  chair  by  Miss  Sy- 
bil and  sat  down  suddenly,  but  rose  up  with  a 
bound. 

"  '  Land  of  Goshen  ! '  said  great-grandmother, 
standing  up,  '  look  at  his  coat-tails  I ' 


TWO  PUMPKIN  PIES.  147 

"  '  O  Lord  !  O  Lord  ! '  screamed  Dolly,  throw- 
ing her  apron  over  her  head  and  running  into 
the  kitchen ;  '  he's  sot  down  in  the  pumpkin 
pie  ! ' 

"  Dilly  didn't  wait  to  hear  who,  but  rushed 
into  the  dining-room  with  a  basin  and  towel. 
There  stood  grandpa  with  plastered  coat-tails,  and 
pumpkin  nmning  down  those  beautiful  breeches 
and  black  silk  stockings,  on  to  great-grandmoth- 
er's new  carpet,  hardly  able  to  move  for  mortifi- 
cation, while  Parson  Huntingdon  lay  back  in  his 
chair  and  laughed  till  he  cried,  and  Miss  Sybil 
was  just  as  bad.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but 
to  take  him  up-stairs  and  give  him  fresh  clothes, 
while  Dilly  cleaned  the  others  ;  So  great-grand- 
father led  the  way  to  the  study,  and  opened  his 
closet.  Plenty  of  clothes  there  :  but  you  see 
grandpa  is  rather  a  small  man,  and  Parson  Hun- 
tingdon was  very  big,  —  six  feet  high,  and  fat, 
too,  —  and  the  figure  grandpa  cut  when  he  came 
down  again  was  something  wonderful. 

"  The  coat-sleeves  were  so  long  he  had  to  roll 
them  up,  and  the  cambric  ruffles  were  quite  lost 
in  a  wilderness  of  waistcoat,  while  the  breeches 
hung  in  folds  over  the  knee-buckles.  However, 
he  had  got  over  the  first  shock,  and  was  prepared 
to  have  some  fiin  out  of  it,  though  he  has  been 
heard  to  say,  that  if  he  had  waited  till  after  din- 


148  THE  AINSLEE  STOIUES. 

ner  to  jiroposo  to  Miss  Sybil,  he  is  afraid  she 
would  never  have  said  anything  but  '  No.'  " 

Her©  Uncle  Ainslee  suddenly  left  the  dining- 
room,  and  was  gone  some  little  time,  while  the 
children  looked  curiously  at  grandpa's  Avhite  hair 
and  grandma's  cap,  as  if  it  were  hard  to  believe 
they  had  ever  been  young.  Presently  the  door 
opened,  and  Uncle  Ainslee  came  in  in  such  a 
dress,  that  everybody  got  up  to  look  at  him.  How 
he  had  ever  got  into  it,  it  was  impossible  to  tell, 
for  he  was  as  tall  as  great-o-randfather  Hunting- 
don,  though  not  fat  yet.  There  he  stood,  blue 
coat,  cambric  ruffles,  and  all,  holding  out  his  coat- 
tails  as  if  he  had  just  risen  up  from  the  pie. 

"  Yes,"  said  grandpa,  "  the  identical  suit. 
You  didn't  suppose  I  was  going  to  throw  it  away, 
did  you  ?  Not  I ;  though  where  Ainslee  got  hold 
of  it  I  don't  see." 

"  He's  been  to  the  big  chest  in  the  garret," 
said  grandma.  "  It's  been  there  for  years,  with 
my  wedding  dress,  that  you  never'd  let  me  dye 
or  anything." 

"  Once  more,"  said  grandpa,  quite  stirred  up, 
and  rising  from  his  chair, —  "  Children,  it's  about 
the  last  time  we  can  all  hope  to  keep  Thanksgiv- 
ing together  —  once  more,  then,  drink  to  '  Pump- 
kin Pie.'  " 

"  Three    cheers  for  pumpkin    pie  !     shouted 


TWO   PUMPKIN  PIES.  149 

little  John,  and  anybody  who  went  by  just  then 
must  have  thought  Grandpa  Walton's  family 
gone  ci'azy,  for  such  a  shout  came  from- the  old 
dining-room,  that  Ponto  ran  around  the  house 
barking,  and  every  glass  on  the  table  shook. 


XI. 


WINTER  TIME. 


It  was  the  day  after  Christmas.  How  ftill 
Amslee's  stocking  had  been  I  don't  know,  but  if 
all  the  things  lying  on  the  bed  before  him  had 
been  Christmas  gifts,  it  must  have  taken  at  least 
two  of  his  grandfather's  lono;-leo;o-ed  ones  to  hold 
them.  It  was  broad  daylight,  almost  dinner-time, 
and  yet  there  sat  Ainslee  in  his  little  dressing- 
gown,  leaning  back  against  the  pillows,  and  not 
half  so  fat  as  when  we  first  saw  him  walking  up 
from  the  barn  with  the  chicken  he  had  hugged 
to  death.  Ainslee  would  turn  very  red  if  you 
should  ask  him  what  was  the  matter,  so  I  must 
begin  at  the  very  beginning  and  tell  you  myself. 

Uncle  Arthur,  with  his  three  children,  had 
stayed  at  grandpa's  till  nearly  the  middle  of  De- 
cember, and  little  John  and  Lizzie  too,  so  that 
when  you  counted  Sinny,  who  was  there  every 
day,  and  sometimes  two  or  three  times  a  day, 
there  were  seven  children,  "  raising  Cain  every 
blessed  minute,"  Ann  said.  Rainy  days,  mamma 
had  a  fire  built  in  the  old  garret  where  she  had 


WINTER   TIME.  151 

had  a  stove  put  up,  and  here  they  played  games, 
and  cracked  butternuts,  and  dressed  themselves 
in  the  old-fashioned  clothes   thev  dragged  from 

%i  Oct 

the  chests  and  trunks ;  and  when  they  were  tired 
of  this,  raced  down  to  the  cellar  and  ate  apples, 
or  sucked  grandpa's  cider,  till  it  was  a  wonder 
that  he  had  one  drop  left. 

By  and  by  came  a  morning  when  Ainslee  had 
to  say  good-by  to  each  one,  and  was  left  alone 
again ;  and  for  a  day  or  two  he  was  so  lonesome 
and  forlorn,  mamma  hardly  knew  what  to  do  with 
him.  Veiy  little  snow  had  fallen,  so  far,  and  he 
ran  about  out-of-doors  quite  as  much  as  in  the 
foil. 

This  particular  morning  he  and  Sinny  had 
been  cracking  the  ice  in  the  Aquarium  with  a 
hammer,  and  looking  throufjh  the  holes  to  see  if 
the  shiners  were  still  alive,  and  now,  a  little 
tired,  were  sittino-  on  a  log  and  resting.  Ann 
came  out  with  a  basket  of  clothes  to  hang;  on  the 
line,  and  old  Mrs.  Culligan,  who  always  came  up 
to  help  with  the  washing,  walked  out  from  the 
back-kitchen  and  toward  the  oldest  well,  with  a 
pail  in  her  hand. 

There  were  two  wells  at  grandpa's.  One  close 
by  the  house,  from  which  the  water  was  carried 
into  the  kitchen,  and  another  very  old  one,  dug 
years  and  years   before,  and   with  a  long  well- 


152  TIIK  AIXSLEE  STORIES. 

sweep,  which  had  been  left  there,  because  all  tiie 
children  when  they  came  home,  liked  to  find  the 
old  well  as  it  had  been  wlien  tliey  were  little, 
and  to  drink  the  clear,  cold  water  from  the  same 
bucket. 

]\Irs.  Culligan  would  never  rinse  her  clothes  in 
any  water  that  did  not  come  from  this  old  well, 
and  Ainslee  knew  that  she  would  carry  in  two  or 
three  pailfuls  before  she  stopped. 

"  I  say,  Sinny,"  said  he  ;  "  I'm  goin'  to  get  on 
the  end  o'  the  well-sweep  and  sit  there,  and  Mrs. 
Cullio;an  won't  know  what's  holdino;  it  down,  and 
she'll  pull  and  pull,  and  when  it  begins  to  go  up, 
I'll  jump  oft"." 

"  Come  on,  then,"  said  Sinny,  who  thought  it 
would  be  fine  fun,  and  oft"  they  I'an. 

The  well-sweep  was  fifteen  or  twenty  feet  long, 
and  so  heavy  that  its  own  weight  would  lift  up 
the  bucket  after  anybody  had  lowered  it  into 
the  water.  The  end  rested  in  quite  a  thicket  of 
bushes,  over  which  a  Frost  Grape  climbed,  so 
that  even  thoucfh  the  leaves  were  gone,  Ainslee 
was  nicely  hidden,  and  nobody  would  have  known 
he  was  there. 

Sinny  walked  toward  the  summer-house,  look- 
ino;  verv  innocent  as  Mrs.  Cullio;an  came  out  with 
her  pail,  and  setting  it  down  by  the  well,  took 
hold  of  the  bucket  and  began  to  pull,  wliile  the 
fifty  pounds  of  mischief  on  tiie  end  sat  still. 


f,S^:^.-^ 


.. ith  tile  sweci) .'  '  said  .Miv.  Oulli'i;aii.  '  — 
.>ie  page  l-")3. 


WINTER   TIME.  153 

"  What  on  airth's  tlie  matter  with  the  sweep  ?  " 
said  Mrs.  Culh'gan.  "  It  went  well  enough  a 
minute  ago,"  and  she  took  a  stronger  hold,  and 
gave  a  great  jerk.  Up  went  Ainslee  into  the  air, 
too  late  for  his  jump. 

"  Land  alive  !  "  said  Mrs.  Culhgan,  so  aston- 
ished, that  she  let  go  of  the  rope  at  once. 
Thump  went  the  well-sweep  down  again,  and 
thump  went  Ainslee  with  it,  rolling  over  and 
over  as  he  touched  the  ground,  and,  finally, 
pickhig  himself  up  with  a  very  scared  face,  cry- 
ing louder  than  he  had  ever  been  known  to  be- 
fore. Sinny  turned  and  ran  home  fast  as  his 
legs  would  take  him,  and  Mrs.  Culligan,  pounc- 
ing on  Ainslee,  carried  him  into  the  house,  and 
set  him  down  before  his  mother,  who  had  run 
into  the  kitchen  when  she  heard  his  screaming. 

"  Of  all  the  boys  that  ever  I  see,  he's  the  mis- 
chievousest,"  said  Mrs.  Culligan.  "  You  never 
can  know  one  minute  what  he's  going  to  do 
the  next.  You'd  better  see  if  he  hain't  broke 
some  bones." 

Ainslee  by  this  time  was  very  pale,  and  mam- 
ma picked  him  up  and  carried  him  into  his  grand- 
mother's room. 

"  What  now  ?  "  said  grandpa. 

"  He's  been  a-ridin'  on  the  well-sweep,"  said 
Mrs.  Culligan,  who    had   followed,  "  an'   I  was 


15-i  TIIK   AIXSLKl':   STORIES. 

took  so  all  of  a  lioap  u-seein'  him  up  there,  that  I 
jest  let  go,  an'  he  went  ilown  bang." 

"Ask  Mr.  Culligan  to  go  for  the  doctor,"  said 
mamma,  who  had  been  feeling  of  Ainslee's  arms 
antl  legs.  "  He  has  broken  his  collar-bone,  I'm 
afraid." 

Mamma  lifted  him  again  and  carried  him  to  her 
own  room.  By  the  time  Dr.  Marsh  got  there,  he 
was  undressed,  and  lying  very  still,  for  every 
motion  hurt  him. 

"Been  haying  again  ?  "  asked  the  doctor,  as  he 
walked  into  the  room. 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Ainslee,  who  didn't  want  to 
tell  how  it  had  happened,  if  he  could  help  it. 

"  He  went  up  on  the  well-sweep,  and  down 
again  with  it,"  said  mamma,  "  and  in  falling  he 
has  broken  his  collar-bone,  I  think.  It  is  swell- 
ing badly  there." 

"  To  be  sure,  to  be  sure,"  said  the  doctor, 
after  examining  Ainslee.  "  It  must  be  set  at 
once,"  and  after  a  moment's  looking  into  a  little 
basi:  he  carried,  he  turned  to  the  bed  again. 

Before  Ainslee  could  object  to  the  very  strong 
smell  of  something  on  a  handkerchief  which 
was  put  to  his  face,  he  didn't  know  anything  at 
all.  When  he  opened  his  eyes  again,  it  was  to 
find  himself  still  flat  on  his  back,  something 
pressing  on  the  bones  of  his  shoulder  and  neck, 


WINTER   TIME.  155 

and  Dr.  Marsh  by  the  window,  dropping  a  dark 
liquid  from  a  bottle  into  a  spoon. 

"  What  you  been  a-doin'  ?  "'  said  Ainslee. 

"  Fixing  you  up,  so  that  in  two  or  three  weeks 
you  can  go  out  and  break  your  neck,"  answered 
Dr.  Marsh.  "  If  you  go  on  like  this,  you  will  be 
all  in  little  bits  by  the  time  you  are  a  man,  and 
mamma  will  have  to  carry  you  about  in  a  carpet- 
bag. One  of  your  bones  is  broken  in  two  now, 
and  it  won't  take  long  to  do  the  rest." 

"  Yes  it  will,"  said  Ainslee,  beginning  to  cry 
again.  "  I  wouldn't  a-gone  up  if  I'd  known  I 
should  crack  myself  comin'  down.  This  thing 
on  my  shoulder  hurts  me.     I  want  it  off." 

"  Don't  touch  it,"  said  mamma,  as  Ainslee  gave 
the  pad  a  little  pull.  "  That  is  to  keep  the  bones 
together,  and  you  must  try  to  be  very  patient 
with  it.  The  stiller  you  are,  the  sooner  you  can 
get  up  again." 

"  Can  I  go  down  to  supper  ?  "  asked  Ainslee. 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  the  doctor,  coming  up  with 
the  tea-spoon,  "  nor  to  a  good  many  suppers. 
You  must  lie  still  at  least  a  week,  and  you 
vs^ill  have  your  suppers  brought  up  on  a  little 
waiter." 

"  Nothing  but  suppers  ?  "  said  Ainslee.  "  No 
breakfasts  ?  " 

"Yes,   yes,"   said    Dr.   Marsh.     "Take   this 


loG  TIIK  AIXSLEE   STORIES. 

now,  and  it  will  keep  you  from  liaving  a  head- 
ache." 

"No  it  won't,"  said  Ainslee,  "for  I've  got 
one  now ; "  but  he  swallowed  the  medicine, 
which  did  not  taste  bad  at  all,  and  the  doctor 
went  away  in  a  few  minutes. 

"  Grandpa  brought  me  a  letter  from  papa,  just 
before  you  were  hurt,"  said  mamma,  sitting  down 
by  the  bed,  and  laying  her  cool  hand  on  his 
forehead.  "  What  do  you  think  it  says  in 
it?" 

"  I  don't  know  ;  what  does  it  ?  "  asked  Ains- 
lee. 

"  Papa  wants  us  to  stay  here  all  winter," 
mamma  answered.  "  He  must  be  in  California 
until  May,  for  he  is  doing  something  with  Uncle 
Ainslee,  by  which  he  expects  to  make  a  great 
deal  of  money.  So  instead  of  going  back  to  New 
York  the  first  of  January,  we  shall  stay  right  on 
here.     How  shall  you  like  that  ?  " 

"  First  rate,"  said  Ainslee,  "  only  I  want  to 
go  to  school." 

"  You  will  not  be  able  to  go  anywhere  before 
January,"  said  mamma.  "  I  do  hope,  having  to 
lie  still  so  long,  with  all  the  trouble  it  brings, 
will  keep  you  out  of  so  much  mischief  when  you 
get  well.  Poor  Mrs.  Culligan  is  crying  now 
over  your  broken  bones." 


WINTER  TIME.  157 

"She  didn't  break  'em,"  said  Ainslee.  "I 
did  it  every  speck  my  own  self.  Call  her  up  hei'e, 
mamma." 

Mamma  called  her,  and  presently  Mrs.  Culli- 
gan  came  in  with  red  eyes,  and  cried  again,  as 
she  saw  him  on  his  back. 

"  Deary  me  !  "  said  she.  "  To  think  that  you 
really  did  break  a  bone  !  I  wouldn't  a-pulled 
you  along  in  so,  if  I'd  a-thought  you  was  any- 
thing more  than  scared." 

"You  didn't  hurt,"  said  Ainslee.  "I  say, 
Mrs.  Cnlligan,  won't  you  bake  me  a  little  round 
short-cake,  just  like  the  one  you  did  when  I  came 
down  to  play  with  Jo?  " 

"That  I  "will,"  said  Mrs.  Culligan,  "an'  I'll 
bring  it  you  to-morrow." 

When  to-morrow  came,  Ainslee  did  not  want 
it,  for  his  head  ached  and  he  was  very  feverish. 
This  lasted  only  a  day  or  two,  and  then  he  was 
hungry  all  the  time,  and  wanted  more  than  Dr. 
Marsh  thought  he  ought  to  have.  He  grew  very 
tired  of  lying  still,  and  if  Uncle  Ainslee  had  been 
at  home,  would  have  begged  for  stories  all  day. 
Grandpa  told  him  some,  and  so  did  mamma,  and 
she  read  him  a  great  many.  Sinny  came  down 
again,  the  same  day  Ainslee  was  hurt,  and  cried 
so  forlornly  when  he  heard  of  the  broken  bone, 
that   Ann,   who  had  meant  to   scold  him   very 


l')S  THE  AINSLF.K   STORIKS. 

liaril,  clian<ii'(l  lu'r  iniiul,  and  gave  liiin  a  cake. 
Ainslee  called  for  liiin,  wlion  he  grew  a  little 
better,  ami  Sinny  sat  on  the  foot  of  the  bed  and 
told  him  everything  he  could  think  of  that  was 
going  on. 

Christmas  came  while  he  was  still  in  bed. 
Mamma  hnng  up  gralndpa's  largest  stocking  for 
him,  and  Ainslee  had  a  locomotive  and  train  of 
cars,  which  ran  all  about  the  room  when  they 
were  wound  up  ;  a  music-bo^j,  which  played  five 
tunes,  and  a  bag  of  marbles ;  candy,  of  course, 
and  I  can't  tell  you  how  many  other  things. 

Ainslee  gave  Sinny  a  duck  which  swam  about 
in  a  basin  of  water  when  a  little  magnet  was  held 
before  it;  a  steamboat  which  did  its  sailing  on 
the  floor,  and  was  wound  up  beforehand,  like  the 
locomotive  ;  and  the  "  History  of  the  Five  Little 
Pigs."  Nurse,  who  never  had  got  over  his  fall- 
in  «•  into  the  pig-pen,  said  he  ought  to  have  kept 
this,  and  had  it  read  to  him  every  day. 

So  you  see  it  was  quite  a  Merry  Christmas, 
and  the  day  after  was  merrier  still,  for  Ainslee, 
who  had  sat  up  in  bed  all  the  morning  looking  at 
his  new  playthings,  was  dressed  and  carried  down- 
stairs, and  when  the  doctor  came,  was  sitting  up 
in  grandpa's  great  chair,  having  a  very  good  time, 
with  a  bowl  of  chicken  soup  and  a  saucer  of  jelly. 

"  Mayn't  I  begin  to  walk  right  away  ?  "  said  he. 


WINTER    TIME.  159 

"  To-morrow,"  said  Dr.  Marsh.  "  Only  a  lit- 
tle thougli,  for  you  are  not  strong  yet,  but  more 
the  next  clay,  and  perhaps  all  you  want  the  day 
after." 

"  When  may  I  go  out-doors?  "  asked  Ainslee. 
"  Look  at  all  the  snow  —  and  there's  my  new  mit- 
tens 'most  spoiling  'cause  they  can't  make  snow- 
balls. See  'em  !  Grandpa  put  'em  in  my  stock- 
ing, and  there's  red,  white,  and  blue  round  the 
tops.     Ain't  they  nice  ?  " 

"  Splendid  !  "  said  the  doctor.  "  Now,  good- 
by,  for  I'm  not  coming  again  till  you  break  some- 
where else,"  and  he  ran  out  through  the  snow  to 
his  gig,  sending  a  great  ball  against  the  window 
as  Ainslee  looked  out. 

"  Oh  let  me  have  some  for  ice-cream,  like  what 
Lizzie  told  about  making,"  said  Ainslee.  "  Just 
a  little,  mamma." 

Mamma  hesitated  a  moment,  but  finally  went 
for  some  milk  and  sugar.  Ainslee  squeezed  the 
juice  of  one  of  his  oranges  into  a  bowl,  and  then 
put  in  the  milk  and  sugar,  and  mamma  stirred  in 
the  newly-fallen  snow  till  the  mixture  was  thick 
like  real  ice-cream.  Sinny,  who  had  just  come 
down,  had  his  share,  and  mamma,  who  tasted  it, 
thought  it  so  good,  that  she  said  she  didn't  know 
but  she  should  make  a  great  bowlful  all  for  her- 
self. 


IGO  TiiF,  ainsi.i:k  stokies. 

The  (lays  went  swil'tly  hy.  Aiiislee  was  well 
airain,  ami  in  so  much  new  mischief,  even  without 
Sinny,  who  went  to  school  every  day  now,  that  at 
last  it  was  decided  that  he  too  should  go.  Then 
the  question  came  up,  to  which  one  ?  There 
were  two  schools  :  one  large  one  in  the  village,  a 
full  mile  away,  which  had  three  departments  ;  the 
Primary,  the  Grammar  School,  and  the  High 
School,  to  which  almost  all  the  large  boys  and  girls 
in  town  went.  The  other  one  was  only  a  small 
District  School,  half  a  mile  or  so  from  them,  and 
kejit  this  winter  by  a  very  good  teacher,  it  was 
said.  Only  twenty  or  thirty  children  went  to  it, 
and  Mrs.  Barton  thought  it  would  bo  better  for 
Ainslee,  than  sending  him  to  the  Primary  School 
where  there  were  almost  twice  as  many. 

Ainslee  knew  his  letters,  and  that  was  all. 
Indeed  he  would  not  have  known  those,  had  it 
not  been  for  trying  to  teach  the  baby,  who  was 
just  old  enough  now  to  pull  himself  up  by  chairs, 
and  to  say  parts  of  very  little  words.  Sinny 
could  spell  pretty  well  in  three  or  four  letters, 
and  rather  looked  down  on  Ainslee,  wdio  did  not 
care  a  bit. 

"  Papa  says  he  don't  want  me  to  have  little 
specks  o'  legs,  an'  no  shoulders,  like  lots  o'  the 
New  York  boys,"  Ainslee  said.  "  I'm  gwin'  to 
be  a  real  country  boy,  and  grow  eleventeen  feet 


WINTER   TIME.  161 

tall.  I  could  lick  you  this  minute  if  I  was  a  mind 
to,  Sinny." 

Sinny  stood  on  the  backdoor  step,  making  a 
final  call  before  going  home  to  supper,  and,  at 
first,  thought  he  would  ask  him  to  try  it ;  but  re- 
membering a  punch  or  two  received  from  him 
that  very  day,  thought,  on  the  whole,  he  had 
better  not,  and  so  kept  still. 

"  To-morrow's  Wednesday,  and  I'm  going  to 
school,"  Ainslee  went  on,  after  waiting  a  moment. 

"  Which  you  goin'  to  ?  "  asked  Sinny. 

"  Yourn,"said  Ainslee  ;  "  Miss  Barrett's  school, 
and  I'm  going  to  take  my  dinner  every  day." 

Grandma  called  just  then,  and  Sinny  ran  home. 
Mamma,  who  had  walked  down  this  afternoon  to 
see  Miss  Barrett,  and  to  find  out  what  books 
Ainslee  would  need,  had  bought  him  a  Spelling- 
book  and  Reader  in  the  village,  and  a  card  with 
the  Multiplication  Table  on  it.  Ainslee  was  so 
excited,  he  could  hardly  eat  his  supper,  and 
looked  at  the  pictui'es  in  the  Reader  till  bed-time. 

Next  morning  came,  and  Ainslee  ivould  put  on 
his  rubber  boots  before  breakfast,  which  he  ate 
very  fast  indeed,  in  order  that  he  might  be  sure 
to  be  in  time.  Grandma  put  up  a  delightful 
lunch  of  biscuit  and  batter,  and  a  mince  turnover, 
in  his  tin  box  ;  and  Ainslee,  after  a  hug  which 
almost  choked  mamma,  stumped  out,  swinging 
11 


102  Till-:  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

liis  books  in  tlieir  strap,  just  as  if  he  had  always 
been  to  scliool.  Sinny  met  liim  outside  the  gate, 
his  books  in  a  strap  too,  and  a  httle  basket  in  his 
hand. 

"What  you  got  for  your  dinner,  SInny?" 
asked  Ainslee.  "  I've  got  mince-pie  turnover  for 
mine." 

"  I've  got  a  sassage,  an'  two  apples,  an'  a  lot 
o'  bread  and  butter,"  said  Sinny.  "  You  give  me 
a  bite  o'  your  pie,  an'  I'll  give  you  two  bites  o' 
my  apple." 

Two  or  three  cliildren  came  along  just  then, 
who  said,  "  Holloa,  Sinny  !  "  and  looked  sharply 
at  Ainslee.  He  knew  one  of  them  a  little,  whose 
name  was  Tom  Martin,  and  who  was  drago-inff  a 
red  sled  after  him. 

"  Oh,  can  you  ride  on  a  sled  ?  "  said  Ainslee. 
"  Will  the  teacher  let  you  ?  " 

"  I  guess  she  couldn't  hinder  us,"  said  Tom, 
"  She's  cross  enough  to,  if  she  could." 

"  Is  she  cross  ?  "  Ainslee  began,  but  Tom  gave 
him  a  jerk. 

"  Look  out !  there  she  comes  now  ;  "  and 
Ainslee,  looking  back,  saw  a  rather  tall  lady 
walking  briskly  over  the  narrow  path.  She  just 
nodded  her  head  as  she  went  by,  and  gave  Ains- 
lee a  look  through  her  gold-bowed  spectacles,  as 
much  as  to  say,  "  So  you're  the  new  boy  !  " 


WINTER  TIME.  163 

"  She's  got  glasses  on,"  said  Alnslee.  "  She's 
awful  old,  isn't  she  ?  " 

"Not  so  very,"  answered  Tom.  "She  ain't 
as  old  as  my  father,  quite,  he  says.  He  used 
to  go  to  school  with  her,  and  she's  always  wore 
glasses,  and  she's  thirty-one  years  old." 

"  My ! "  said  Ainslee,  who  thought  how 
queerly  she  must  have  looked  when  she  was  a 
baby,  in  a  long  white  dress,  and  those  spectacles 
on  her  nose  ;  but  by  this  time  they  were  at  the 
school-house  door,  and  he  made  no  more  remarks 
just  then. 

The  school-house  stood  on  a  hill,  as  school- 
houses  in  New  England  almost  always  do. 
There  was  first  a  little  bit  of  a  room,  whei^e  the 
children  hung  their  things,  and  left  their  dinner- 
baskets,  and  where  the  water  pail  stood ;  then 
came  the  school-room,  low  and  square,  the  desks 
rising  gradually  to  the  back,  where  the  larger 
children  sat  —  boys  on  one  side  and  girls  on  the 
other.  In  front  were  two  low  benches  for  the 
very  youngest,  put  right  before  the  teacher's 
desk,  so  that  she  could  watch  them  every  min- 
ute, and  here  Ainslee  was  told  to  take  his  place. 
Sinny  and  one  other  little  boy  sat  on  the  same 
bench,  and  on  the  other  side  were  two  little 
girls,  whom  Ainslee  began  to  look  at  immedi- 
ately. 


164  TIM-:   AINSLKK   STORIES. 

Miss  liarrett  asked  his  nainc,  and  wrote  it  in  a 
book,  after  Avliich  she  called  the  roll.  Ainslee 
said  "  Present !  ''  with  all  the  rest,  and  felt  very 
fine  that  at  last  he  was  really  at  school.  Then 
he  listened  to  hear  what  names  the  little  girls 
would  answer  to.  The  one  he  thought  he  should 
like  the  best,  turned  out  to  be  Amanda  Martin  ; 
and  the  one  next  to  her,  Maria  Jones ;  and  the 
small  boy  sitting  by  him  was  Sampson  Sim- 
mons. 

Miss  Barrett  read  a  chapter  in  the  Bible,  and 
thien  rapping  sharply  on  the  desk,  called,  "  First 
class  in  reading,  take  their  places." 

Seven  or  eight  of  the  larger  boys  and  girls 
came  forward,  and  Ainslee  watched  them  curi- 
ously as  they  toed  the  mark,  and  put  one  hand 
behind  them,  keeping  it  there  all  the  time,  ex- 
cept when  a  leaf  was  to  be  turned  over.  After 
the  reading  had  ended,  they  spelled  some  of  the 
harder  words,  and  both  hands  were  ])ut  behind 
them  tlien.  How  they  did  behave,  too  !  One 
pair  in  particular,  belonging  to  a  little  boy  with 
very  red,  curly  hair,  wei-e  not  still  a  minute,  but 
poked  one  neighbor,  and  pinched  another,  and  at 
last  pretended  to  be  slapping  the  Reader  which 
was  held  in  them,  till  Ainslee  could  not  bear  it, 
and  laughed  aloud. 

"  Who  did  that  ?  "  said  Miss  Barrett,  taking 
up  her  ruler. 


WINTER  TIME.  165 

"  Me,  ma'am,"  said   Ainslee,  with  a  red  face. 

"What  for?" 

"  'Cause  I  couldn't  help  it,  ma'am." 

"One  bad  mark  to  begin  with,  sir,"  said  Miss 
Barrett.  "  If  you  get  another,  you'll  have  to 
stay  in  at  recess." 

Ainslee  sobered  at  once,  and  looked  down  at 
his  SpelHng-book,  but  a  new  class  being  called, 
he  looked  up  again  to  watch  that,  and  altogether 
was  so  interested,  that  the  hour-and-a-half  to  re- 
cess seemed  very  short.  Tom  Martin  taught 
him  how  to  steer  his  sled,  and  took  him  down 
behind  him  once,  and  Ainslee  made  up  his  mind 
to  ask  his  mother  for  one  just  as  soon  as  he  got 
home. 

After  recess  Miss  Barrett  called  him  up  to  her 
desk. 

"  You  will  have  to  read  and  spell  by  yourself," 
she  said,  "  until  you  catch  up  with  Sampson  and 
Sinny.     How  far  are  you  in  the  Reader  ?  " 

"  Nowhere,  ma'am,"  said  Ainslee.  "  I've 
looked  at  all  the  pictures,  though." 

"  Can't  you  read  a  word?"  asked  Miss  Bar- 
rett, looking  quite  disgusted.  "  Such  a  great  boy 
as  you  are !  " 

"  Papa  didn't  want  me  to  know  how,"  said 
Ainslee,  "  so  I  didn't  ever  learn.  I  will  now, 
thoudi." 


166  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

"  Well,  I  should  think  it  was  time,"  said  Miss 
Barrett.  "  Now,  what  is  that  ?  "  and  she  turned 
to  the  alphabet,  and  began  to  point  out  the  dif- 
ferent letters  with  a  pin.  After  he  iiad  said  them 
all,  she  showed  him  how  to  learn  a  Httle  spelling 
lesson,  and  told  him  to  sit  down  and  be  good  till 
she  was  ready  for  him  again.  Noon  came  before 
his  next  lesson  time,  and  Ainslee,  with  the  rest, 
gathered  about  the  stove  till  the  dinners  were 
eaten,  and  then  went  out  again  to  the  hill,  where, 
before  the  bell  called  them  in,  he  had  learned  to 
get  to  the  bottom,  without  tumbling  off  his  sled 
more  than  twice. 

One  class  after  another  was  called,  and  Ains- 
lee, growing  tired  of  studying,  turned  to  Sinny 
who  was  chewing  something,  — 

"  What  you  doing?  "  he  whispered. 

"Makin'  a  spit-ball ;  look  a  here,"  said  Sinny; 
and  rolling  the  wet  paper  into  a  little  round  ball, 
he  watched  till  Miss  Barrett's  head  was  turned, 
and  threw  it  at  one  of  the  boys  in  the  class  be- 
fore them,  who  happened  to  be  so  busy  saying  a 
table,  that  he  did  not  notice  it. 

"  Where'd  you  get  the  paper?  "  said  Ainslee, 
charmed  with  the  experiment.  Sinny  showed 
him  a  torn  leaf  in  his  Spelling-book,  which  must 
have  already  supplied  a  good  many. 

Ainslee    tore    off  a   bit,    and    soon    had    just 


WINTER  TIME.  167 

such  another  httle  ball  in  his  own  fingers.  He 
wouldn't  hit  anybody,  he  thought ;  he'd  just 
throw  it  at  the  teacher's  desk  ;  and  as  Miss  Bar- 
rett turned  away  again,  he  snapped  it  hard  with 
his  thumb  and  finger,  as  he  often  had  beans  and 
pease.  Too  hard,  for  the  head  came  round  again 
in  a  second,  and  the  spit-ball  was  lodged  on  the 
left  glass  of  those  very  gold  spectacles. 

There  was  a  dreadful  silence. 

"'  Come  here,  you  very  bad  boy,"  said  Miss 
Barrett,  taking  ofi*  her  spectacles  and  rubbing 
them  with  her  handkerchief.  "  So  tliis  is  the 
way  you  behave  the  very  first  day.  Don't  you 
know  any  better?" 

"  No,  ma'am,"  said  Ainslee.  "  I  didn't  know 
it  was  bad ;  I  only  thought  maybe  it  was.  I 
wasn't  goin'  to  hit  your  eye." 

"  I'll  give  you  something  to  make  you  know 
for  certain,"  said  Miss  Barrett,  and  putting  a 
high  stool  on  one  side  of  her  platform,  she  lifted 
him  to  it. 

Poor  Ainslee  I  How  he  felt  as  all  the  scholars 
stared  at  him.  He  stood  quietly  though,  till  he 
saw  Sampson  Simmons  make  a  face  at  him,  be- 
hind his  Spelling-book,  and  then  burst  into  tears. 

"  I  want  to  get  down  and  go  home,"  he  cried. 
"  I  don't  love  to  go  to  school." 

"  You  never  will  love  to  when  you're  a  bad 


168  Tin;  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

boy,"  said  Miss  Barrett.  "  You've  got  to  say 
your  lesson  now,  so  don't  you  cry  any  more." 

Ainslee  could  not  say  his  lesson  then,  and 
went  on  crying  so  hard,  that  at  last  Miss  Barrett 
told  liim  to  run  home,  and  be  a  better  boy  to- 
morrow. 

Mamma  was  surprised  at  his  red  eyes,  and 
more  so  at  his  forlorn  story,  and  Ainslee  felt 
much  better  when  he  liad  told  her  everything. 

"  I  don't  think  you  really  meant  to  do  wrong," 
she  said,  wiien  he  ended,  "  but  you  will  know  to- 
morrow that  playing  and  throwing  spit-balls  are 
not  right  things  to  do.  After  this,  you  shall 
only  go  half  a  day  ;  you  will  be  better  able  to 
sit  still  and  be  quiet,  if  you  are  not  in  school  so 
long." 

Ainslee  managed  to  be  a  very  good  boy  the 
next  day.  Sitting  still  grew  easier  and  easier, 
and  he  went  on  very  well,  till  after  a  fortnight 
or  so  of  school,  when  something  happened,  of 
which  I  shall  tell  you  in  another  chapter. 


XII. 

ainslee's  valentine. 

Ainslee's  seat  in  school  was,  as  I  have  told 
you,  on  a  little  bench  in  front  of  the  teacher's 
desk,  where  she  could  see  all  that  he  did,  and  the 
two  little  girls  were  close  by,  only  a  narrow  pas- 
sage-way between  them.  Sampson  Simmons  had 
the  end  toward  the  girls'  side,  and  could  almost 
touch  Amanda  Martin  by  leaning  over.  He  did 
not  like  her,  however,  because  she  made  fun  of 
his  big  head,  and  was  always  getting  above  him 
in  the  spelling  class,  and  so  Miss  Barrett  never 
had  to  scold  him  for  whispering  to  her.  Ainslee, 
on  the  contrary,  thought  her  more  delightful 
than  any  little  girl  he  had  ever  seen,  and  wished 
that  he  might  sit  in  Sampson's  place,  and  look  at 
her  all  the  time  when  he  was  not  studying.  So 
one  morning,  getting  there  before  him,  Ainslee 
sat  down  on  Sampson's  end  of  the  bench,  and 
pulled  his  own  and  Sinny's  books  toward  him. 

"  Get  out  o'  that,"  said  Sampson,  who  came 
in  just  as  Ainslee  had  settled  things  to  his  mind. 

"  I  don't  want  to,"  said  Ainslee.     "  You  let 


170  Till-:   AINSLKE   STOHIi:S. 

iiK'  ami   iSiuiiy  sit   this  eiul,  and   you  sit   whore 
Sinny  used  to." 

"  I  won't  no  such  a  thing,"  snapped  Sampson. 
'*  You  just  want  to  sit  there  so's  to  fire  sj)it-balls 
up  to  the  big  boys'  end.  You  go  back  to  your 
own  place  this  minute,  or  I'll  tell  Miss  Barrett 
what  an  awful  face  you  made  at  her  yesterday." 

Ainslee  slid  back  to  the  middle,  and  took  up 
his  Spelling-book,  very  much  as  if  he  would  like 
to  throw  it  at  Samjison.  Miss  Barrett  had  just 
opened  the  roll-book,  and  raj)j)ed  on  the  desk, 
and  so  lie  liad  to  keep  still  for  an  hour-and-a-half, 
thinking  so  hard  all  the  time  liow  he  could  coax 
him,  that  his  ten  words  of  spelling  lesson  were 
almost  forgotten. 

Samjison  whisked  out  at  recess,  and  Ainslee 
followed  slowly,  hardly  listening  to  Sinny,  who 
went  on  talking  just  the  same,  whether  anybody 
paid  any  attention  or  not.  Amanda  had  run  to 
the  top  of  the  hill,  and  was  begging  her  brother 
Tom  to  let  her  have  his  sled  and  go  down  all 
alone. 

"You  can  have  mine  one  time,"  said  Ainslee, 
"  and  I'll  go  down  with  Sinny,"  and  he  put  the 
rope  in  her  hand.  Ainslee's  sled  was  the  very 
handsomest  one  in  school  :  bright  blue,  with  a 
white  and  gold  border,  and  Defiance  on  it  in 
gilded  letters.     All  the  boys  had  had  a   ride  on 


AINSLEE'S  VALENTINE.  •       171 

it,  for  Ainslee  was  very  obliging,  as  well  as  very 
proud  of  the  new  sled,  and  each  boy  declared  it 
to  be  the  best  sled  that  ever  was  made.  Amanda 
was  delio-hted  at  having  it  all  to  herself,  and 
smiled  so  at  Ainslee,  that  he  thought  her  prettier 
than  ever. 

Sampson,  who  had  no  sled,  was  trying  to  coast 
down  on  a  piece  of  board,  which  went  very  well 
over  one  or  two  icy  places,  but  stuck  fast  as  soon 
as  it  came  to  snow.  Ainslee  watched  a  moment, 
and  then  a  brio-ht  idea  came. 

"  I  say.  Samp,  come  here  ! "  he  shouted.  "  No, 
Sinny ;  you  go  down  with  anybody  you're  a 
mind  to.     I  want  to  talk  to  Samp." 

Sampson  picked  himself  up,  and  walked  for- 
ward as  if  half  a  mind  not  to  do  it. 

"Look  a  here.  Samp,"  said  Ainslee;  "you 
change  seats  with  me  and  I'll  let  you  slide  on  my 
sled  two  times  this  recess." 

"  That  ain't  enough,"  said  Sampson,  after 
thinking  a  moment.  "  Two  times  now,  and  four 
this  noon,  and  then  I'll  do  it." 

"  Why,  that's  an  awful  lot,"  said  Ainslee. 
"  You  might  do  it  for  four  times." 

"  No  I  won't  then,"  answered  Sampson,  who 
thought  there  must  be  something  very  desirable 
about  his  end  of  the  bench,  which  he  had  never 
found  out,  and  who  meant  to  drive  a  good  bargain 
for  it. 


172       •  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

"  Well,"  said  Ainsleo,  slowly,  "  Til  give  you 
the  six  times,  but  you  mustn't  ever  ask  for  the 
seat  back  again." 

"All  right,"  said  Sampson,  dashing  down  the 
hill  after  the  sled,  and  taking  it  with  such  a  jerk, 
that  little  Amanda  was  almost  upset,  and  had  to 
catch  hold  of  Billy  Howard,  wiio  was  walking  up 
by  her. 

Ainslee  went  down  on  Sinny's  sled,  which,  be- 
ing only  a  rough  wooden  one  liis  grandfatiier  had 
made  for  him,  went  bumpity  l)ump  all  the  way, 
and  turned  right  off  into  a  drift  just  before  they 
got  to  the  bottom.  Ainslee  dropped  some  snow 
down  Sinny's  back  to  pay  him  for  not  steering 
better,  and  Sinny,  after  dancing  round  a  minute, 
flew  at  Ainslee  and  washed  his  face  to  pay  liim^ 
and  just  then  the  bell  rang,  and  there  was  no 
more  time  for  coasting  or  squabbling. 

Ainslee  took  his  new  place,  looking  so  de- 
lighted that  Sampson  determined  to  watch  and 
find  out  what  he  could  mean  to  do.  He  sat  stiller 
than  usual,  however;  and  Sampson,  after  spy- 
ing around  Sinny  till  Miss  Barrett  looked  up, 
and  told  him  if  he  didn't  keep  his  head  where  it 
belonged,  he  should  be  kept  in  at  noon,  gave  it 
up,  and  turned  to  his  Multiplication  Table. 

Sinny  liked  being  In  the  middle,  for  now  he 
could  tease   two  instead  of  one.     So    while    he 


AINSLEE'S   VALENTINE.  173 

held  his  head  down  carefully,  and  studied  in  a 
very  loud  whisper,  he  poked  one  elbow  into  Ains- 
lee,  and  another  into  Sampson,  who  thought  at 
first  that  he  would  hold  up  his  hand  and  tell  Miss 
Barrett,  and  then,  that  he  would  poke  back,  and 
have  some  fun  too.  Miss  Barrett  looked  down 
at  the  bench  just  then,  but  both  boys  seemed  to 
be  studying  much  harder  than  usual,  and  she 
turned  again  to  the  copy-books.  Sinny,  pretty 
sure  now  that  she  would  not  look  for  some  time, 
forgot  to  keep  his  head  down,  and  engaged  in 
such  a  series  of  sly  nips  and  digs,  that  both  boys 
giggled  outright  before  they  thought. 

"  Sampson  Simmons,  come  right  here  and  stand 
by  me,"  said  Miss  Barrett,  severely;  "and  Sinny 
Smith,  you  go  into  the  passage-way,  and  stay 
till  I  call  you." 

Sinny  skipped  out  in  such  a  way  that  she 
called  him  back,  and  made  him  do  it  over  again 
properly,  and  then  settled  once  more  to  the 
copy-books. 

In  the  mean  time,  Ainslee  had  moved  further 
and  further,  till  now  he  was  on  the  very  end  of 
the  bench,  staring  at  Amanda,  and  wishing  with 
all  his  might  that  he  had  a  sister  like  her. 

"  She's  so  nice,"  he  thought ;  "  nicer  than 
any  little  girl  I  know  anywhere,  unless,  maybe, 
cousin  Lizzie.  I  wish  I  sat  on  the  same  bencli 
with  her." 


174  TlIK   AINSLEK   STORIES. 

Amanda  was  cliewing  a  ])ioce  of  spruce  gum, 
doing  it  very  quietly,  for  fear  Miss  Barrett  would 
see,  and  take  it  away,  and  this  fear  made  her 
eyes  shine,  and  her  cheeks  as  red  as  could  be. 
One  hand  was  resting  on  the  end  of  the  bench, 
and  Ainslee  reached  over  and  patted  it.  Amanda 
took  it  away  a  moment,  but  let  it  fall  back  again, 
and  Ainslee  gave  it  another  pat,  and  then  hugged 
hard  as  much  of  the  fat  arm  as  he  could  reach. 

"  "Well,  Ainslee  Barton,"  said  Miss  Barrett's 
sharp  voice ;  and  Ainslee,  starting  back,  saw  that 
she  had  laid  down  her  pen,  and  was  leaning  back 
in  her  chair,  from  which  she  must  have  been 
watching  him  two  or  three  minutes. 

"Ain't  you  ashamed  of  yourself,"  she  went 
on,  "  playing  with  girls  ?     Come  right  here,  sir." 

Ainslee  walked  up  to  her  with  a  very  red  face. 

"  Take  that  stool  and  put  it  on  the  end  of  the 
platform,"  she  said;  and  Ainslee  dragged  along 
the  same  high,  yellow  stool,  on  which  he  had 
stood  two  or  three  weeks  before,  and  Miss  Bar- 
rett lifted  him  on  to  it. 

"  Now,  Amanda  Martin,  you  come  here  too," 
she  said. 

All  the  school  were  looking  by  this  time,  won- 
dering what  was  to  be  done.  Miss  Barrett  lifted 
her  to  the  same  stool,  and  put  her  back  to  back 
with  Ainslee. 


AINSLEE'S   VALENTINE.  175 

"You're  so  fond  of  each  other,"  she  said,  "it's 
a  pity  you  shouldn't  be  close  together,"  and 
from  her  desk  she  took  some  strings,  with  which 
she  tied  their  feet  together  under  the  seat.  The 
stool  was  narrow,  and  Ainslee  sat  very  still  for 
fear  that  he  should  joggle  Amanda  off.  He 
knew  all  the  boys  in  school  so  well  now  that  he 
hardly  minded  sitting  up  there  before  them,  and 
as  he  felt,  too,  that  Miss  Barrett  was  very  cross 
and  disagreeable,  and  had  no  business  to  put  him 
there,  just  for  hugging  a  nice  little  girl,  he  held 
his  head  up,  and  did  not  cry  at  all. 

Poor  Amanda  did  not  stop  to  think  whether 
jNIiss  Barrett  was  right  or  not,  but  just  cried  with 
all  her  might  for  a  little  while,  till  her  brother 
Tommy  held  up  a  peppermint-drop  where  she 
could  see  it.  Slie  felt  better  then,  and  remem- 
bering that  the  spruce  gum  was  still  in  her  mouth, 
took  it  out  and  pinched  it  into  a  pig,  chewing  it 
soft  again  whenever  it  hardened,  and  at  last  di- 
viding it  into  two  pieces,  one  of  which  she  slipped 
into  Ainslee's  hand. 

After  all  the  two  children  did  not  so  much 
mind  their  punishment,  and  at  twelve  o'clock, 
when  Miss  Barrett  untied  them,  she  wondered  to 
find  them  so  contented.  Their  feet  were  pretty 
stiff,  to  be  sure,  but  on  the  whole  they  had  grown 
quite  intimate  since  recess,  and  Ainslee,  instead 


176  Tin<:  ainslee  stories. 

of  beino;  made  asliamed  of  beino;  with  lier,  liked 
Amanda  better  than  ever.  Sampson  caught  up 
Ainslee's  sled  as  they  all  ran  out. 

"Hoi"  said  he,  "wouldn't  I  be  ashamed  to 
have  to  sit  uj)  that  way  with  a  girl !  " 

"  I'd  rather  sit  so  with  a  girl  than  with  you, 
so  now,"  said  Ainslee.  "  I  won't  ever  sit  by  you 
again." 

"Yes  you  will,"  said  Sampson.  "I'm  going 
to  take  ray  own  seat  to-morrow  morning." 

"  Then  you've  told  a  lie,"  said  Ainslee.  "  You 
said  '  all  right '  when  I  told  you  you  mustn't  ask 
for  it  again." 

"Well,  I  meant  all  right  for  this  morning," 
answered  Sampson,  preparing  to  get  on  the  sled. 

"  Then  you  sha'n't  have  my  sled,"  said  Ains- 
lee, running  up  to  him.  "  You've  cheated  ;  give 
it  back." 

"  I  haven't,"  said  Sampson."  "  You  said  I  w'as 
to  have  six  rides,  if  you  had  the  seat,  and  I  haven't 
had  but  two." 

"  Oh,  come  now,"  said  Sinny.  "  You  know 
well  enough  you  didn't  mean  only  to-day." 

"  It's  none  o'  your  business,  any  way,"  said 
Sampson,  suddenly  turning  upon  him.  "  You 
ain't  anything  but  a  nigger,  —  a  dirty  little  nig- 
ger,—  that  hasn't  any  business  to  come  to  school." 

"Now   you    Samp,  stop    that,"  said    Tommy 


AINSLEE'S  VALENTINE.  177 

Martin  coming  up.  "  He's  a  nicer  boy  than  you 
be." 

"  I'm  going  to  punch  you,  Sampson,"  said 
Ainslee,  whose  cheeks  had  been  cettino;  i-edder 
and  redder.  "  You  do  mean  things  every  min- 
ute, and  I'm  going  to  punch  you;"  and  before 
Sampson  had  made  up  his  mind  what  to  do,  Ains- 
lee liad  sprung  upon  him,  and  both  were  down  in 
the  snow. 

"Hands  off!  "  said  Tommy,  as  Sinny  would 
have  gone  into  the  battle.  "  Two  to  one  ain't 
fair.     Let  'em  settle  the  best  way  they  can." 

This  was  likely  to  be  a  hard  one  for  Ainslee. 
Sampson  was  older  and  stronger  than  he,  and  af- 
ter the  first  moment  of  surprise  was  over,  fought 
furiously,  getting  liim  face  down  at  last  in  the 
snow,  and  hitting  him  till  he  was  pulled  away  by 
Tommy. 

"  Better  luck  next  time,"  he  said.  "  You'll 
lick  him  yet,  Ainslee." 

Ainslee  took  his  sled  and  ran  toward  home, 
trying  not  to  cry,  while  Sampson,  who  had 
shouted,  "  Let  that  alone,"  and  started  after 
him,  was  held  back  by  Tommy. 

"  You  ain't  going  to  have  everything  you 
want  —  so  !  "  said  he.  "  I'll  lick  you  myself  if 
you  touch  Ainslee  Barton,  if  I  am  bigger  than 
you  be." 

12 


178  THE  AINSLKE  STORIES. 

By  the  time  Ainslee  readied  lionie,  lie  had 
made  up  his  mind  tliat,  if  he  were  beaten  twenty 
times  over,  he  would  get  the  best  of  Sampson 
Simmons  some  day,  and  he  sat  down  to  dinner 
with  a  very  grave  face. 

Grandpa  gave  him  a  slice  of  roast  beef  and  a 
great  potato,  when  his  turn  came,  and  then  rather 
waited  for  the  potato  to  be  mashed  and  come  back 
to  him  again  for  gravy  ;  for  Ainslee,  like  almost 
all  little  boys,  thought  potato  and  gravy  nearly 
the  best  part  of  dinner.  But  Ainslee  touched 
neither  that  nor  his  squash,  of  which  he  was  very 
fond,  only  cut  away  at  his  beef,  till  every  bit  was 
gone,  and  then  passed  up  his  plate  for  more. 

"  More  ?  "  said  grandpa.  "  Clear  meat  isn't 
good  for  little  boys.  Why  don't  you  eat  your 
vegetables  ?  " 

"  Don't  want  'em,"  said  Ainslee.  "  Didn't 
you  say  this  morning,  when  you  was  cutting  the 
steak,  that  beef  made  people  strong,  grandpa?" 

"Yes,"  said  grandpa;  "but  what  do  you  want 
to  get  any  stronger  for  ?  " 

"  Because  I've  got  something  to  do,"  said 
Ainslee.  "  Please  to  give  me  a  large,  thick 
piece,  grandpa." 

"  Eat  the  potato,  dear,"  said  mamma,  as  the 
thick  piece  came  back.  "  What  is  it  you've  got 
to  do  ?  " 


AINSLEE'S  VALENTINE.  179 

"Lick  Sampson  Simmons,"  said  Ainslee,  in  a 
loud  voice.  "  I'll  punch  his  eyes  all  black,  when 
I've  eaten  beef  enough." 

"  Why,  why  !  why,  why  !  "  said  grandpa,  lay- 
ing down  his  knife  and  fork.  "Who's  this  talk- 
ing so  large  about  punching  ?  What  has  Samp- 
son done  ?  " 

Ainslee  told  his  story,  and  grandpa,  who  had 
listened  with  a  queer  little  twinkle  in  his  eyes  all 
the  way  through,  said  not  a  word,  but  went  on 
with  the  dinner. 

"Now,  Richard,"  said  grandma,  "don't  you 
mean  to  tell  him  he  mustn't." 

"Well,  no,"  said  grandpa.  "  I  think  Ainslee 
knows  pretty  well  what  is  right,  and  I'm  inclined 
to  believe  Sampson  needs  punching,  from  what  I 
hear  about  him." 

What  grandma  might  have  said  here,  I  don't 
know,  but  as  Ainslee  had  finished  his  beef,  and 
would  have  no  pie,  mamma  took  his  hand  and  led 
him  up  to  her  room. 

"  Now,  tell  me  about  it  again,"  she  said.  "  Tell 
me  just  as  if  you  were  Tommy  Martin,  and  saw 
exactly  what  Sampson  Simmons  and  Ainslee 
Barton  did." 

Ainslee  sat  very  still,  frowning,  and  trying  to 
make  himself  feel  like  somebody  else,  and  at  last 
beffan  asain. 


180  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

"  Now,  mamma,  isn't  he  awful  mean  ?  "  he  said, 
when  he  had  ended,  "  and  can't  I  punch  him 
bymbye  ?  " 

"  Wait  and  see,"  said  mamma.  "  He  may  be 
sorry  he  has  been  mean,  and  if"  he  is,  there  will 
be  no  need  of  jmnching  him.  Like  Amanda,  too, 
as  much  as  you  please,  but  don't  hug  her  in 
school,  for  the  teacher  doesn't  like  you  to  do 
anything  that  keeps  you  from  learning  your  les- 
sons ;  and  if  you  play,  and  make  Amanda  play 
too,  there  are  two  -svrongs  instead  of  one." 

"Was  it  wrong  for  me  to  love  her?"  said 
Ainslee. 

"  No,"  mamma  answered,  "  it  is  never  wrong 
to  love,  but  it  is  sometimes  to  do  it  in  the  wrong 
place.  You  wouldn't  get  up  in  church  to  hug 
me  ?  " 

"  Yes  I  would,"  said  Ainslee.  "  I  wanted  to 
last  Sunday." 

"  Why  didn't  you  ?  "  said  mamma. 

"  'Cause  everybody  would  have  stopped  look- 
ino-  at  the  minister,  and  looked  at  me,"  said  Ains- 
lee. 

Mamma  laughed.  "  Well,  just  so  it  is  about 
school.  Suppose  while  you  were  hugging  Aman- 
da, that  Sampson  had  wanted  to  hug  Sarah  Jones, 
and  Tommy  Martin,  Juliana  Johnson,  and  so 
on,  when  would  the  lessons  have  been  learned  ? 


AINSLEE'S  VALENTINE.  181 

While  you  are  in  school,  you  mvist  mind  Miss 
Barrett's  rules  carefully-  Out  of  school,  you  can 
do  what  you  please,  so  long  as  it  is  right." 

Next  morning  Ainslee  Avent  to  school,  deter- 
mined that  Sampson  should  not  take  his  sled,  but 
found  his  place  empty,  and  at  recess  Billy  How- 
ard said  he  was  sick  with  a  sore  throat.  Ainslee 
took  his  seat  of  course,  and  whether  anything  was 
said  or  done  about  it  when  Sampson  came  back, 
I  shall  tell  you  at  some  other  time.  In  the  mean 
time  Amanda  had  many  a  ride  on  his  sled,  and 
Ainslee  began  to  wish  again  that  he  stayed  all 
day,  and  even  asked  his  mother  if  he  might,  to 
which  she  said  a  very  decided  "  No." 

It  was  February  now,  and  in  the  book-store, 
and  the  candy  and  cigar  shops,  there  were  gay 
valentines,  costing  anything  from  a  cent  to  a  dol- 
lar or  two,  which  the  school  children  admired 
every  day.  There  were  sheets  of  paper  with 
wreaths  or  hearts  in  which  to  write  anything 
you  might  think  of  yourself.  Stephen  Jones,  the 
oldest  boy  in  school,  had  one  of  these  in  his  desk, 
and  two  or  three  sheets  of  common  paper  beside, 
on  which  he  was  writing  a  verse  of  poetry  over 
and  over,  till  he  could  do  it  well  enough  to  copy 
on  the  valentine.  He  showed  it  to  Ainslee  one 
day,  who  wished  that  he  could  write,  and  won- 
dered if  there  would  be  time  for  him  to  learn  be- 


182  Till-:  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

fore  St.  Valentine's  Day.  He  could  print  all  the 
letters  of  the  alphabet,  big  and  little,  for  he  had 
been  doing  this  on  his  slate,  half  an  hour  or  so, 
every  day  since  he  began  school.  He  had  never 
made  them  into  words,  but  now  he  tried  quite 
hard  to  copy  short  sentences  from  his  Spelling- 
book,  and  beoan  to  think  to  himself  that  he  niioht 
perhaps  be  able  to  print  something  which  would 
do  for  a  valentine. 

All  this  time  he  had  asked  nobody's  advice, 
but  one  afternoon,  sitting  on  a  loo;  near  the  wood- 
pile,  with  Sinny,  he  said  suddenly,  — 

"Did  you  ever  have  a  valentine,  Sinny  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Sinny.  "  Mother  did,  though. 
She's  got  one  at  home  in  the  big  Bible,  and  she 
won't  let  me  look  at  it,  only  once  in  a  great 
while.  She  says  father  sent  it  to  her  when  he 
was  courtin'  her." 

"  I  wish  I  could  see  it,"  said  Ainslee. 

"  Well,  you  can,  said  Sinny.  "  You  come  up 
to  grandfather's,  an'  mother'll  show  it  to  you,  I 
know." 

So  Ainslee  ran  in  and  asked  his  mother,  who 
said  "  Yes,"  and  the  two  children  went  up  to  old 
Peter  Smith's,  taking  turns  in  drawing  each  other 
on  the  sled. 

It  was  a  queer,  little,  old  house,  in  Avhich  they 
lived.     Ainslee's  visits  there  had  generally  been 


AINSLEE'S   VALENTINE.  183 

made  in  the  barn,  ending  with  eating  ginger- 
bread on  the  door-step,  and  so  he  looked  about 
now  with  some  curiosity.  Sinny  had  taken  him 
into  the  room,  where  Nancy,  his  mother,  spent 
almost  all  her  time.  There  was  a  best  room,  but 
it  was  almost  never  opened,  unless  some  one 
died.  This  one,  which  was  parlor,  and  dining- 
room,  and  kitchen,  all  in  one,  had  a  great  fire- 
place, with  a  bright  fire  burning  in  it,  and  before 
it  a  tin  baker  in  which  Nancy  was  baking  biscuit 
for  supper.  In  one  corner  stood  a  bed,  never 
slept  in  unless  company  came,  for  their  own  rooms 
were  up -stairs.  It  was  made  up  so  high  with 
feather  beds,  that  one  needed  to  climb  into  a  chair 
in  order  to  reach  it,  and  this  bed  was  covered 
with  a  remarkable  patch-work  quilt,  made  in  bas- 
ket pattern.  There  were  half  a  dozen  chairs  in 
the  room ;  one  a  very  straight-backed  rocking- 
chair  by  the  window,  where  Nancy  sat  to  do  her 
sewing.  A  little  stand  was  near  it,  which  held 
her  work-basket,  and  on  another  stand  in  the 
corner  was  the  big  Bible,  and  the  almanac,  which 
old  Peter  read  in  the  evening. 

"  I  want  some  more  chips,"  Nancy  said,  as 
they  came  in.  "  Sinny,  you  and  Ainslee  go  into 
the  wood-house  and  pick  up  a  basketful,  an'  I'll 
give  you  some  biscuit  when  you  come  in." 

"  Show  us  the  valentine,  mother,  when  we're 
through,"  Sinny  said.     "  Ainslee  wants  to  see  it." 


184  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

"  Maybe,"  said  Nancy,  and  the  boys,  when 
they  came  in,  found  her  sitting  by  the  window, 
the  big  Bible  in  her  hvp. 

"  Where  I  Hved,  they  give  me  this  Bible  when 
I  was  mari'ied,"  she  said;  "an'  pai'son  Tuttle,  he 
wrote  Simeon's  name  and  mine  right  there,  an' 
the  date  an'  all ;  an'  when  Sinny  was  born,  he 
put  it  down  on  the  other  page.  Here's  the  val- 
entine in  among  the  Deaths." 

Ainslee  watched  as  she  drew  the  sheet  of  paper 
from  the  great  envelope  and  unfolded  it.  There 
were  a  pair  of  doves  billing  at  the  top  of  the 
page,  and  little  red  hearts  with  arrows  stuck 
through  them,  a  wreath  of  flowers,  in  the  centre 
of  which  was  written  in  a  cramped  handwriting, 
blotted  here  and  there,  four  lines,  signed, 

"  Your  trew  Valentin  til  Deth." 

"  What  does  it  say  ?  "  asked  Ainslee.  "  Read 
it,  won't  you  ?  "  and  Sinny's  mother  read,  — 

"  The  Rose  is  Red, 
The  Voylet  is  Blu, 
The  Pink  is  swete,  and 
so  Are  You." 

"  That's  the  nicest  thing  to  say  in  a  valentine, 
I  ever  did  hear,"  said  Ainslee,  as  Mrs.  Smith  put 
the  yellow  paper  back  into  the  envelope,  and 
shut  up  the  Bible  with  a  sigh.  "  I  say,  Nancy, 
I  want  to  send  a  valentine,  and  write  it  all  my- 
self, and  I'll  say  that  same  thing." 


AINSLEE'S   VALENTINE.  185 

"  Well,  if  I  ever  !  "  said  Nancy.  "  You  ain't 
six  years  old  yet." 

"  I  don't  care,"  said  Ainslee.  "  I've  got  five 
cents  to  buy  some  paper.  You  tell  me  that  over 
again  till  I  know  it.  No,  you  write  it.  No,  you 
needn't  either.  Mamma'll  let  me  come  up  here 
to-morrow  and  write  it  myself.     May  I  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  Nancy,  and  Ainslee  ran 
home  to  supper.  Going  to  bed  that  night  he  told 
his  mother,  who  said  he  might  spend  his  five 
cents  in  a  pretty  envelope  and  sheet  of  paper, 
and  she  would  put  them  in  another  one  directed 
to  Amanda  for  him. 

"  I  want  to  write  on  the  inside  one  myself, 
mamma,"  he  said,  "  so's  to  have  the  valentine 
part  all  mine." 

"  Very  well,"  mamma  said,  and  Ainslee  Avent 
to  sleep,  perfectly  happy. 

Next  day,  right  after  school,  he  went  down  to 
the  village,  and  after  a  great  deal  of  difiiculty, 
found  some  paper  just  to  his  mind,  with  which  he 
trotted  back  to  Nancy's,  who  had  a  seat  already 
for  him  at  the  table,  and  sat  down  with  the  val- 
entine in  her  hand,  ready  to  read  it  to  him. 
Ainslee  had  a  pencil  which  his  mother  had  sharp- 
ened for  him,  for  he  could  not  yet  use  ink  with- 
out getting  it  all  over  his  fingers.  Nancy  spelled 
each  word  for  him,  just  as  it  was  written  there, 


186  TIIK  AINSLKt:   STORIES. 

and  Ain>k'e  [)ut  it  all  into  the  very  best  printing 
he  could  do.  On  the  opposite  page  you  will  see 
exactly  how  it  looked  when  finished. 

Then  Ainslee  took  the  envelope,  and  printed 
on  the  outside,  just  as  Nancy  told  him  to  spell  it 
—  MisamanderMaktin,  —  all  in  one  word. 
You  ten  or  twelve-year-olders,  who  never  miss  a 
word  in  your  spelling-classes,  can  afford  to  laugh 
at  Ainslee,  and  your  little  brothers  and  sisters 
wnll  not  know  but  that  it  is  all  right,  unless  you 
tell  them. 

What  grandpa,  and  grandma,  and  mamma 
thought  when  they  saw  it,  I  don't  know.  Grand- 
pa coughed  so  tliat  he  couldn't  tell  Ainslee  how 
he  liked  it,  and  mamma  looked  out  of  the  window 
for  some  time  before  she  put  it  in  the  envelope 
she  had  all  ready.  She  put  on  a  two-cent  stamp, 
and  jNlr.  Cullisan  mailed  it  that  evenino;  when  he 
went  down  to  the  post-office,  together  with  a 
penny  one  that  Ainslee  had  bought  for  Ann,  for 
it  was  then  the  thirteenth  of  February. 

Next  day  came  a  terrible  storm  of  wind  and 
rain,  and  as  Ainslee  had  a  little  cold,  mamma 
kept  him  at  home.  Two  valentines  came  to  him, 
both  printed  ones,  and  Ainslee  wondered  all  day, 
not  only  whom  his  could  be  from,  but  whether  or 
no  Amanda  had  hers. 

The  next  day  was  pleasant,  and  he  started  for 


r 


J.I  ,i 


Nancy  spelled  each  word  lor  him.  just  as  it  was  written  there,  and  Ainn- 
fcrf  put  it  all  into  the  verv  best  printing  he  could  dp."  —  See  page  186. 


AINSLEE'S  VALENTINE. 


187 


school  just  as  soon  after  breakfast  as  he  could 
o-et  ready,  with  his  two  valentines  in  his  pocket. 


All  the  boys  and  girls  were  about  the  stove 
when  he  got  there,  and  almost  every  one  had  a 
valentine  to  show.  Sampson  Simmons  had  one 
of  a  boy  putting  his  fingers  in  his  mother's  pre- 
serve jars,  which  he  had  found  on  his  seat,  and 
would  not  have  shown  had  he  known  what  was 
in  it.  Amanda  Martin  was  standing  by  Tommy, 
holding  one,  wiiich  Ainslee  knew  in  a  minute  ; 


188  THE  AIXSLEE  STORIES. 

and  Sinny  was  sliowing  his,  as  if  it  were  tlie  fin- 
est one  ever  printed. 

"  You  didn't  get  one,  did  you,  Amanda  ? " 
asked  Ainslee. 

"  I  guess  I  did,"  said  Amanda.  Tommy 
makes  fun  of  it,  but  I  think  it's  beautiful." 

"  Do  you,  truly,  surely  ?  "  said  Ainslee. 

"  Why  yes,"  Amanda  answered,  looking  up. 
"I'm  always  going  to  keep  it.  Did  you  send  it, 
Ainslee  ?     I  sent  you  one." 

"  Whicli  one  ?  "  said  Ainslee,  delighted,  and 
more  so,  when  it  proved  to  be  the  prettiest  one. 

"  I'll  let  you  ride  on  my  sled  like  anything, 
Amanda,"  he  said.     "  I  love  you." 

"  So  do  I  you,"  said  Amanda.  "  You're  the 
nicest  boy  I  ever  saw." 

I  think  Ainslee  w^ould  have  hucfsred  her  again 
that  very  minute,  had  not  the  bell  called  school 
to  order.  He  did  pat  her  as  he  went  by,  and 
when  he  went  home  at  noon,  told  his  mother  he 
wanted  to  hurry  and  get  big,  and  just  as  soon  as 
h«  did,  he  should  marry  Amanda,  to  which 
mamma  said,  — 

"  Twenty  years  or  so  from  now,  my  boy,  we 
will  besin  to  talk  about  that." 


XIII. 

SNOW-DRIFTS. 

Such  a  snow-storm  came,  the  very  last  day  of 
February,  as  Ainslee  never  had  seen,  and  which 
the  village  paper  said  was  "  One  of  the  severest 
in  the  memory  of  the  oldest  inhabitant."  White 
and  still  the  flakes  fell  for  two  whole  days,  and 
when  on  the  third  the  sun  peeped  out  just  a  mo- 
ment, to  see  how  the  world  had  been  getting  on 
without  him,  he  found  such  a  surprising  state  of 
things,  that  he  went  behind  a  cloud  as  fast  as  he 
could,  and  waited  till  nearly  noon  before  he  de- 
cided to  come  out  and  stay. 

In  the  village  where  people  were  going  back 
and  forth  all  the  time,  the  deep  snow  had  been 
cleared  away,  and  the  paths  trodden  down  a  lit- 
tle ;  but  further  out,  where  grandpa  lived,  was  one 
great,  white  sheet,  every  fence  covered,  and  no 
sound  to  break  the  wonderful  silence. 

Ainslee  climbed  into  grandpa's  arm-chair,  and 
looked  from  the  dining-room  window,  as  the  sun 
at  last  gleamed  out.  The  keen  north  wind,  which 
had  howled  down  the  chimneys,  and  moaned  and 


190  Tin-:  Aixsi.KE  stories. 

groaned  all  the  night  long  in  the  old  trees,  had 
whirled  the  snow  into  deeper  and  deeper  drifts 
with  each  gust,  till  now  it  seemed  as  if  nobody 
ever  could  dig  out.  The  old  rooster  crowed 
hoarsely  from  the  barn,  shut  in  by  a  mountain 
of  snow  before  the  door.  The  two  pigs  squealed 
with  hunger,  for  Mr.  Culligan  had  not  been  able 
to  get  up  to  them  from  the  meadow  where  he 
lived,  since  the  afternoon  before.  Tiie  pine-trees 
near  the  summer-house  were  great  Avhite  pyra- 
mids, and  Ainslee  looked  down  through  them  to 
the  meadow. 

"  There  comes  Mr.  Cully,  grandpa,"  he  shouted. 

Mamma  came  to  the  window  and  looked  out 
with  him  at  Culligan,  laboring  through  the  snow, 
sinking  sometimes  up  to  his  waist,  and  reaching 
the  backdoor  at  last,  all  out  of  breath,  and  with 
the  reddest  face  that  ever  you  saw.  Ann  gave 
him  some  hot  coffee  at  once,  and  presently,  when 
he  had  rested,  grandpa  and  he  began  digging  a 
path  to  the  wood-house  and  barn.  Ainslee, 
wrapped  to  his  eyes,  plunged  about  in  the  snow, 
which  was  flir  above  his  head  ;  and  at  last  got  the 
fire-shovel,  and  began  to  dig  a  tunnel  which  he 
thought  might,  in  time,  bring  him  out  somewhere 
near  Sinny's.  As  for  getting  to  school,  that  was 
quite  out  of  the  question,  until  the  oxen  and 
snow-sleds  should  make  a  way. 


Well, 


SJiid  graudpa,  'at  the  rate  you  are  going  on,  you  may  get  there 
in  a  year  and  a  half  from  now.'  "  —  See  page  191. 


SNOW-DRIFTS.  191 

"  I'd  learned  down  to  '  twice  five  makes  ten," 
mamma,"  said  Ainslee,  "  and  now  I  shall  forget 
every  word  of  it.  Maybe  I  can't  go  to  school 
all  the  rest  of  the  winter,  and  then  I  won't  re- 
member anything." 

"  Won't  you  ?  "  said  mamma,  smiling.  "  Then 
every  morning  you  may  say  a  little  lesson  to  me, 
till  you  go  again." 

"  Oh  no !  "  said  Ainslee  ;  and  thinking  this  a 
subject  which  had  better  not  to  be  talked  about 
any  longei',  returned  to  his  tunnel. 

"  How  long  would  it  take  me  to  dig  up  to  Sin- 
ny's,  grandpa?  "  he  asked,  as  he  began  again. 

"Well,"  said  grandpa,  putting  his  head  on 
one  side,  and  examining  the  hole,  which  was 
now  just  large  enough  to  allow  of  Ainslee's  stand- 
ing upright  in  it,  "  at  the  rate  j'ou  are  going  on, 
you  may  get  there  in  a  year  and  a  half  from 
now." 

"  Ho  !  "  said  Ainslee.  "  You  always  make 
fun  of  me,  grandpa.  I'm  going  to  make  prints 
o'  myself  all  over,  and  not  dig  any  more  when 
you're  a-looking." 

"I  sha'n't  look  ;  I'm  too  busy,"  said  grandpa. 
"  Dig  away  ; "  but  Aijislce  was  off  to  a  spot  near 
the  wood-house,  from  which  the  snow  had  been 
blown,  till  only  a  foot  or  so  deep  remained,  and 
which  was  just  moist  enough  to  make  an  excel- 


192  THE   AlNSLEi:   STORIES. 

lent  liki'iioss  of  liini,  boots  and  all,  as  lie  lay  on 
his  hack  with  both  arms  stretched  out. 

"  I  wonder  if  I  could  make  nose  and  eyes  and 
all,  if  I  laid  my  face  down,"  he  thought ;  but  it 
was  so  cold  and  choky  when  he  tried  it,  that  he 
gave  up  it  at  last,  and  went  into  the  house  to  get 
warm.  Ann  had  a  doughnut  man  cut  out,  ami 
dropped  him  into  the  frying-pan,  just  after  Ains- 
lee  came  in,  %vho  Avatched  him  swell,  and  turn  a 
lovely  brown. 

"  Wouldn't  he  holler  if  he  was  alive,"  he  said. 
"  Ann,  I've  just  thovight.  Fm  going  to  eat  him 
every  speck,  and  then  I'm  going  out  again  to 
make  a  snow-man." 

"You're  too  small,"  said  Ann.  "  Yoii  couldn't, 
no  more  than  the  baby." 

"  I  could  too,"  said  Ainslee.  "  You  see  now," 
and  too  full  of  this  plan  to  eat  more  than  half  his 
man,  he  started  out,  and  began  rolling  up  a  ball, 
which  verv  soon  grew  so  laro-e,  that  even  if  he 
had  not  been  stopped  by  a  drift,  he  could  not 
have  stirred  it  another  inch. 

"  The  snow's  too  deep,"  said  Ainslee.  "  I 
guess  I'll  go  to  the  barn  and  perhaps  I'll  find 
some  eggs." 

Grandpa  had  not  got  there  yet,  however,  and 
Ainslee,  after  walking  back  and  forth  for  some 
time,  between  the  high  walls  of  snow  piled  up 


SNOW-DRIFTS.  193 

on  either  side,  grew  tired,  and  went  into  the 
house.  Baby  was  awake,  and  Ainslee  played 
with  his  blocks,  and  built  him  some  card-houses. 
Tea-time  came  before  he  knew  it,  and  bed-time 
very  soon  after. 

If  Ainslee  had  stayed  awake  that  night,  he 
would  have  heard  the  rain  pouring  down  steadily, 
and  when  he  opened  his  eyes  next  morning,  the 
drifts  were  running  down  hill,  and  a  cold  wind 
blowing  the  i^ain  against  the  windows. 

"  Pretty  good  beginning  for  March,"  grandpa 
said  at  the  breakfast  table.  "  If  this  goes  on,  the 
snow  will  be  gone  in  no  time.  The  path  to 
school  is  all  clear,  Ainslee,  I  guess." 

"  You  wouldn't  want  me  to  get  a  sore  throat, 
would  you,  grandpa?"  said  Ainslee,  "a-going  all 
in  the  rain  ?  " 

"  Castor-oil  would  cure  it,"  said  grandpa ; 
"and  if  you  went  without  your  dinner  and  supper, 
you'd  be  well  the  next  morning,  and  could  do  it 
all  over  again." 

Ainslee  was  too  busy  with  buckwheat  cakes 
just  then  to  make  any  answer,  and  indeed  I  don't 
think  grandpa  expected  any,  for  he  walked  out  to 
see  Mr.  Culligan,  who  was  in  the  kitchen. 

All  day  the  rain  poured  down.  Ainslee  pasted 
some  pictures  into  a  scrap-book,  in  the  morning  ; 
and  in  the  afternoon  mamma  put  a  large  closet  in. 

13 


194  TIIK  AINSLEK  STORIES. 

her  room  In  order,  and  he  looked  at  tlie  different 
thinffs  as  tliey  were  broujiht  out. 

"  What  can  this  be  ?  "  said  mamma,  reaching 
up  to  the  top  shelf,  and  talking  down  a  red  and 
green  something. 

"  Why,  it's  a  beautiful  teenty  barrel,"  said 
Ainslee.  "  Let  me  have  it,  mamma.  Where 
did  you  get  it  ?  " 

"  Uncle  Ainslee  gave  it  to  me  long  ago,"  mam- 
ma said,  "  when  I  was  a  young  girl.  He  brought 
it  from  Russia,  I  think,  and  it  was  full  of  little 
bottles  of  perfumes,  packed  in  cotton.  See,  the 
bung  takes  out,  and  there  is  a  hole  large  enough 
to  put  your  hand  in." 

"  Give  it  to  me,  mamma, "said  Ainslee.  "  Do 
give  it  to  me  for  all  my  own." 

"  Well,"  said  mamma,  "  if  you  will  take  very 
good  care  of  it,  I  will ;  but  if  I  find  you  are  going 
to  spoil  it,  I  shall  take  it  away." 

"  I  won't  spoil  it,  certain  sure,"  said  Ains- 
lee, and  ran  down  to  show  it  to  grandma  and 
Ann.  His  wagon  stood  in  the  kitchen,  and  Ains- 
lee filled  the  barrel  w-ith  water,  and  pretended  he 
was  a  root-beer  man,  and  sold  glasses  of  it  for 
two  pins  apiece. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  so  many 
pins,  Ainslee  ? "  said  grandma.  "  You  must 
have  a  boxful  now." 


SNOW-DRIFTS.  195 

"  I'm  eoins:  to  make  scissors  of  'em,"  said 
Ainslee,  "  next  summer,  along  with  the  boys. 
Cross  'em,  you  know,  and  put  'em  on  the  track, 
and  when  the  locomotive  comes  along,  it  jams  'em 
into  splendid  scissors.    Tommy  Martin's  got  lots." 

"You'll  set  killed  ffoing  on  the  track,"  said 
grandma. 

"  No  I  won't,"  Ainslee  answered.  "  The  boys 
don't  go  on  the  track,  only  put  the  pins  on.  You 
know  Seth  Collins,  grandma?  His  father  keeps 
the  candy  store,  and  he  brings  pea-nuts  to  school, 
a  whole  pocketful  sometimes,  and  he  sells  'em, 
three  for  two  pins.    I  bought  a  lot  the  other  day." 

Grandma  shook  her  head  a  little,  but  gave  him 
two  or  three  pins,  and  drank  the  water  from  the 
little  tin  cup  as  though  it  were  the  most  delicious 
root-beer.  Ainslee  played  with  his  barrel  till 
bed-time,  and  when  next  morning  came,  wanted 
very  much  to  take  it  to  school,  and  went  off  just 
the  least  bit  angry  that  mamma  would  not  let 
him.  He  forgot  barrel  and  everything  else  in  a 
very  few  minutes,  for  there  was  Amanda  walking 
right  on  before  him,  with  the  verv  dearest  little 
pair  of  rubber  boots  on  her  small  legs  that  ever 
were  seen.  Ainslee  ran  after  her,  and  hugged 
her  right  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  he  was  so 
glad  to  see  her  again.  Tommy  laughed  a  little, 
and  said,  if  Ainslee  lived  with  Amanda  all  the 


196  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

time,  he  guessed  he  woukhrt  like  her  quite  so 
much. 

"  She's  a  pretty  nice  little  gal,  though,"  Tom- 
my added,  as  he  saw  her  face  cloud  a  little,  and 
Ainslee  said,  — 

"  There  isn't  any  nicer  anywhere." 

Two  or  three  of  the  boys  came  up,  and  they 
all  went  into  the  school-room  in  the  highest  spir- 
its. Sinny  was  delighted  to  see  Ainslee,  and 
the  frolic  which  began  by  the  stove  did  not  end 
at  roll-call,  but  went  on  in  such  fashion,  that  at 
last  Sinny  giggled,  and,  trying  to  turn  the  giggle 
into  a  cough,  made  such  a  splutter  behind  his 
Spelling-book,  that  Miss  Barrett  said,  — 

"  Go  into  the  entry  this  minute,  sir,  and  stay 
till  you're  called." 

Sinny  went  out  slowly,  for  the  entry  was  cold, 
and  he  did  not  like  to  stand  there.  He  counted 
all  the  boys'  caps,  and  all  the  girls'  hoods,  and 
then,  finding  Miss  Barrett  was  hearing  a  class, 
and  not  likely  to  call  him  in  for  some  time, 
opened  his  dinner-pail,  and  ate  a  part  of  his  gin- 
gerbread. 

"  That's  Sampson's,"  he  said  to  himself,  look- 
ing at  a  little  red  and  brown  basket  in  one  cor- 
ner ;  "  I'm  going  to  see  what  he's  got." 

Sinny  lifted  the  lid  and  looked  in.  Only  bread 
and  butter  on  top,  but  pulling  up  one  slice  a  little, 


SNOW-DRIFTS.  197 

there  underneath  was  a  fried  pie,  delightfully 
brown,  and  just  what  he  liked,  better  than  al- 
most anything  else.  Sinny  tiptoed  back  to  his 
own  pail,  and  looked  in  again  at  the  two  apples 
there.  They  were  Pearmains ;  a  rich,  dark-red, 
and  so  good,  that  often  the  boj'-s  traded  off  at 
noon,  and  gave  Sinny  cake  or  pie  for  one  of 
them.  Sampson  had  wanted  to  do  this  not  long 
before,  for  these  apples  were  the  only  ones  of  the 
kind  which  were  brought  to  school,  and  as  Sinny 
stood  thinking  of  the  fried  pie,  he  remembered 
this. 

"  Fried  pie's  too  good  for  Samp,"  he  said. 
"  I'll  give  him  both  my  apples,  and  then  it'll  be 
fair  enough  to  eat  up  his  pie." 

So  Sinny  took  out  the  pie,  put  the  two  apples 
carefully  under  the  bread  and  butter,  and  then 
stood  up  behind  Juliana  Johnson's  plaid  shawl, 
and  ate  till  the  very  last  crumb  was  gone.  Miss 
Barrett  called  him  just  as  he  finished,  and  he 
walked  into  the  school-room,  and  said  his  spelling- 
lesson,  and  then  came  recess,  and  for  the  first 
time  he  began  to  think,  "  What'll  Samp  say  ?  " 

Sampson  went  right  out  to  play,  however,  but 
when  recess  was  over,  Sinny  grew  more  and 
more  frightened,  as  he  thought  what  might  hap- 
pen at  noon,  —  too  frightened  to  make  any  plans 
as  to  what  it  was  best  to  do.      Miss  Barrett  went 


198  THE  AIXSLEE  STORIES. 

home  at  once  when  the  twelve  o'clock  bell  rang, 
and  all  the  children  <rathered  about  the  stove  with 
their  dinners.  Ainslee  stopped  to  eat  his  lun- 
cheon with  the  rest,  and  Sinny  stood  between 
him  and  Tommy  Martin,  thinking  that  the  safest 
place  to  be  in. 

"  Holloa,  Sinny  !  "  said  Ainslee,  suddenly,  as 
Sampson  took  out  his  bread  and  butter,  and  stood 
staring  at  the  apples.  "  Samp  Simmons  stole 
your  apples.     Take  'em  away  from  him." 

"  No  such  a  thing,"  said  Sampson,  indignantly. 
"  Somebody's  been  an'  stole  my  pie.  I  had  a 
whole  pie.  You  did  it,  Sinny  Smith,  coz  these 
is  your  apples." 

"  I  didn't  steal  it  neither,"  said  Sinny,  taking 
a  step  forward.  "  I  only  swapped.  I  eat  up 
your  pie,  an'  them's  my  apples  to  pay  for  it ;  so 
now." 

"  You  see  what  Miss  Barrett  will  do  to  you," 
said  Sampson,  wagging  his  head.  "  If  I  don't 
just  tell  her  the  very  minute  she  coniL's  back." 

"  Don't  you  now.  Samp,"  said  Ainslee,  who 
looked  troubled  and  anxious.  "  He  didn't  mean 
to  steal." 

"  You  shet  up,"  said  Sampson,  who  rather  en- 
joyed the  idea  of  getting  any  one  of  Ainslee's 
friends  into  trouble.  "  'Tain't  your  muss,  it's 
mine." 


SNOW-DRIFTS.  199 

"  I'll  give  you  two  cookies  if  you  won't  tell," 
said  Ainslee. 

"  What  kind  ?  "  asked  Sampson,  who  liked 
good  things. 

*'  Sugar,"  said  Ainslee.  "  Be-?/M-tiful  ones  : 
the  best  kind  grandma  makes." 

"  Hain't  you  got  but  two  ?  "  said  Sampson. 

"  Three,"  Ainslee  answered  ;  but  I  was  goin' 
to  eat  one  myself." 

"  Give  'em  all  or  I'll  tell,"  said  Sampson  ;  and 
Ainslee,  after  hesitating  a  moment,  handed  over 
the  three,  which  Sampson  gobbled  down,  as  if  he 
were  afraid  they  would  be  taken  from  him. 

"  Here's  the  rest  o'  my  gingerbread,  Ainslee," 
said  Sinny.  "  I  ate  it  most  all  up  when  I  was 
out  in  the  entry,  but  you  can  have  all  there  is." 

"Well,"  said  Ainslee,  "I  guess  I'll  take  it, 
'cause  I'm  going  to  stay  till  afternoon  recess,  and 
grandpa's  going  to  stop  for  me,  and  take  me 
somewhere  in  the  wagon." 

"  Samp  took  that  pretty  easy,"  said  Tommy 
Martin,  as  Sampson,  after  finishing  the  last  speck 
of  bread  and  butter,  went  out.  "I  thought  he'd 
pitch  into  you,  Sinny.  Don't  you  swop  off  again, 
or  maybe  Fll  puncli  you  myself.  'Tain't  fair  to 
be  snoopin"  round,  lookin'  to  see  what  we've  got. 
It's  most  as  bad  as  real  stealing." 

"I    wouldn't,    to    anybody    but    Samp,"    said 


200  TIIK  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

Sinny,  mnncliiiio;  away  on  his  bread  and  butter, 
"lie's  so  hatef'id  I  don't  care,  only  I  didn't  want 
liini  to  tell.  It  wasn't  stealing,  one  bit.  Two 
apples  is  bigger  than  his  ])ie." 

"  That's  so,"  said  Tommy  ;  "  but  don't  you  do 
it  again,  for  all  that." 

"  Come  out  now,"  Ainslee  said  ;  "  it's  most 
time  for  school  to  go  in  again,"  and  all  the  chil- 
dren ran  out  for  a  play. 

Sampson  walked  in  when  the  bell  rang,  as 
thoucrh  he  had  somethino;  on  his  mind.  One  of 
the  school-committee  had  come  in  with  Miss  Bar- 
rett, and  after  the  roll  had  been  called,  he  told 
the  children  that  he  should  ask  them  some  ques- 
tions in  geography.  So  Miss  Barrett  called  up 
the  Geography  class,  and  after  that  had  been  ex- 
amined, Mr.  Brown,  for  that  was  the  committee- 
man's name,  put  out  some  words  for  the  younger 
children  to  s])ell.  Sinny  did  better  than  any 
other  boy  of  his  size,  and  Sampson,  who  had 
missed  twice,  felt  more  and  more  angry. 

Quarter  of  three,  the  usual  recess-time,  came, 
and  Mr.  Brown  got  up  to  go.  Ainslee,  who  was 
tired  of  school  now,  was  listening  hard,  thinking 
it  full  time  for  grandpa  to  be  there,  and  wishing 
Miss  Barrett  would  touch  the  bell,  so  that  he 
could  run  out  for  his  cap  and  coat,  when  Samp- 
son held  up  his  hand.     Ainslee   turned  around 


SNOW-DRIFTS.  201 

to  see  what  lie  wanted,  and  Miss  Barrett,  who 
had  at  first  paid  no  attention,  seeing  that  he 
looked  quite  important,  and  still  held  his  hand 
up,  said,  — 

"  What  do  you  want,  Sampson  ?  " 

"  Please  ma'am,  Sinny  Smith's  been  a-steal- 
ing,"  said  Sampson,  rising,  and  speaking  in  so 
loud  a  tone  of  voice,  that  every  scholar  gave  the 
strictest  attention  at  once. 

''What!''  said  Miss  Barrett,  and  Mr.  Brown 
sat  down  again,  and  looked  attentively  at  Samp- 
son. Sinny  started,  and  then  held  his  head 
down ;  Ainslee  grew  very  red,  and  Tommy  Mar- 
tin shook  his  fist  at  Sampson  behind  the  lid  of  his 
desk,  which  fell  with  a  bang. 

'^  Silence  !  "  said  Miss  Barrett.  "  What  does 
this  mean  ?     What  has  he  stolen  ?  " 

"  He's  stole  my  pie,  and  eat  it  all  up,"  said 
Sampson,  "  and  Ainslee  Barton  hired  me  not  to 
tell." 

"When  did  he  do  it?"  asked  Mr.  Brown, 
looking  severely  at  Sinny. 

"  He  laughed  right  out  in  school  this  morning, 
an'  got  sent  into  the  entry,"  Sampson  answered, 
"  an'  he  peeked  into  all  the  dinner-pails,  and  eat 
some  out  o'  every  one  o'  them,  an'  he  eat  a  whole 
pie  out  o'  mine." 

"  Oh  what  a  awful  lie  !  "  Sinny   began  ;  and 


202  THE   AINSLEE  STORIES. 

"  O  IMiss  Barrett !  "  said  Tommy  Martin,  standing 
up. 

"  Silence  !  "  said  Miss  Barrett.  "  I  don't  want 
to  hear  a  word  ;  "  and,  "  Silence  !  "  echoed  Mr. 
Brown.  "If  you've  been  stealing,  you've  got  to 
be  whipped.     Come  here." 

"  He  didn't  steal,"  said  Ainslee,  stepping  for- 
ward. "  He  only  changed  off.  He  gave  Samp- 
son both  his  apples,  an'  I  gave  three  cookies,  an' 
Samp's  meaner  than  anything." 

"  Don't  tell  any  lies  about  it,  but  sit  down  this 
minute,"  said  Miss  Barrett. 

"  Didn't  you  hear  your  teacher  say  she  didn't 
want  no  talk  about  it  ?  "  said  Mr.  Brown,  taking 
up  the  ruler.  "  Simeon  Smith,  you've  been  a 
very  bad  boy.  It's  wicked  to  steal,  and  you've 
got  to  be  punished.     Hold  out  your  hand." 

Sinny  held  out  his  hand,  but  jerked  it  away  as 
the  ruler  came  down,  and  drew  back  a  step. 

"  None  o'  that  now,"  said  Mr.  Brown,  rubbing 
his  knee,  against  which  the  ruler  had  struck,  and 
poor  Sinny's  small,  black  hands,  were  made  to 
sting  a  good  deal  harder  than  they  might  have 
done,  hatl  he  held  still  in  the  first  place.  Which 
did  the  hardest  crying,  he  or  Ainslee,  it  would 
not  be  easy  to  tell ;  and  as  Amanda  cried  because 
Ainslee  did,  Mr.  Brown  wondered  what  had  got 
into  the  children.     Tommy  Martin  never  cried 


SNOW-DRIFTS.  203 

when  lie  was  feruled,  but  Sinny  was  not  yet  old 
enough  to  keep  still  when  hurt,  and  sat  wiping 
his  eyes  on  his  jacket  sleeve,  and  glowering  at 
Sampson  for  some  time  after  the  whipping  was 
over. 

"Keep  your  seat,  sir,"  Miss  Barrett  said,  when 
he  got  up  at  recess  time.  "  Boys  that  steal  can't 
go  out  and  play,"  and  Sinny  sat  down  and  began 
to  cry  again. 

Sampson,  who  thought  there  was  a  chance  of 
Settino;  into  trouble  if  he  went  out,  hung  round 
the  stove,  till  the  bell  rang  again.  If  he  could 
have  heard  what  was  going  on  out-of-doors,  he 
would  have  told  Miss  Barrett  directly,  and  asked 
to  go  home  with  her  ;  but  as  the  boys  had  paid 
no  attention  to  him  when  they  went  out,  he  con- 
cluded that  by  the  time  school  was  over,  they 
would  very  nearly,  if  not  quite,  have  forgotten 
what  he  had  done,  and  so  he  went  back  to  his 
lessons,  feeling  quite  comfortable. 

Ainslee  had  rushed  to  Tommy  Martin  the  mo- 
ment the  school-room  door  closed  behind  them. 

"  That  Samp's  the  wickedest,  meanest  boy 
that  ever  I  saw,"  he  cried,  with  flashing  eyes. 
"  He  ought  to  be  licked  this  very  minute,  and  I 
can't  do  it  anyhow  before  next  year.  Tommy, 
if  you'll  lick  him  for  me,  I'll  give  you  every 
marble  I've  sot." 


204  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

"  1  don't  want  to  lick  him,"  said  Tommy, 
"  'cause  I'm  bioger  than  he  is,  but  I  tell  you 
what  I  will  do.  I'll  wash  his  face  for  him  after 
school,  till  he  hollers,  and  tell  him  I'll  do  it  every 
day  if  he  don't  look  out." 

"  Don't  do  it  till  to-morrow  morning,  then," 
said  Ainslee,  "  'cause  I  want  to  help,  and  there's 
grandpa  coming  now.  I'll  come  to  school  real 
early,  so's  to  see  you." 

"Well,"  said  Tommy,  and  Ainslee  climbed  up 
by  grandpa,  who  had  just  reached  them,  and  the 
two  drove  away. 

"  Miss  Barrett  ain't  fair,  grandpa,"  he  said, 
after  a  lono;  silence. 

"  Isn't  she  ? "  said  grandpa,  who  had  been 
looking  at  his  very  grave  little  face  for  some 
time.     "  What  has  Miss  Barrett  done  ?  " 

"  She  won't  listen  a  minute  to  anything,"  said 
Ainslee.  "  She  whips  you  before  she  finds  out 
whether  you've  really  done  anything  or  not," 
and  Ainslee  went  on  with  his  story  of  the  day's 
work. 

"  Well,"  said  grandpa.  "  It  seems  Sampson 
didn't  promise  not  to  tell,  though  it  was  almost 
as  mean  a  piece  of  work  as  if  he  had." 

Ainslee  thought  a  minute. 

»  He  didn't,  did  he  ?  "  said  he.  "  He  only 
told  me  two  cookies  wasn't  enough.     That's  just 


SNOW-DRIFTS.  205 

the  Avay  lie  did  about  the  sled.  I  wish  I  wasn't 
so  short  and  fat,  grandpa,  so't  I  could  lick  him. 
I  wish  I  could  grow  fast." 

"  You'll  be  big  enough  by  and  by,"  said, 
grandpa,  "  but  I  am  not  sure  that  licking,  as  you 
call  it,  will  be  the  very  best  thing  for  Sampson, 
and  perhaps  it  is  just  as  well  that  you  are  no 
match  for  him.  Be  as  honest  and  truthful  your- 
self as  you  can  be,  and  perhaps  he  will  grow 
ashamed  of  being  mean,  and  try  to  do  better." 

"  No,"  said  Ainslee.  "  He  won't  ever  be 
ashamed  of  anything.  I  wish  you'd  punch  him, 
grandpa." 

"  I'm  as  much  too  big  as  you  are  too  little," 
said  grandpa,  laughing.  "  Mean  people  are  al- 
ways punished  in  one  way  and  another,  and 
Sampson  will  take  his  turn  by  and  by." 

"•  He'll  take  a  scrubbing  to-morrow,"  said 
Ainslee.     "  We're  all  a-goitig  to  wash  his  face." 

Grandpa  made  no  answer,  concluding  the  af- 
fair had  better  take  its  own  course.  Ainslee, 
who  thought  he  had  not  heard,  waited  a  moment, 
and  then  turned  to  the  horses,  coaxing  grandpa 
at  last  into  giving  up  the  reins  for  a  few  minutes. 
The  excitement  of  driving  made  him  half  forget 
Sampson,  but  at  bed-time  he  told  his  mother, 
who  said,  as  grandpa  had  done,  that  meanness 
was    almost    always    its  own    punishment,    and 


206  THE  ainsi.ee  stories. 

Ainslee  must  try  the  harder  to  be  free  from  it 
himself. 

"  Ain't  you  wilHng  his  face  should  be  washed, 
mamma?"  said  Ainslee. 

"  That  may  do  him  good,"  mamma  answered, 
half  smiling.  "  Certainly  he  was  very  mean,  and 
a  little  cold  snow  in  his  eyes  may  help  him  to 
see  it." 

"  You're  the  bestest  mannna,"  said  Ainslee, 
delighted.  "  You  know  I  wouldn't  punch  any- 
body, or  wash  their  faces  either,  unless  they  was 
awful  mean  —  would  I,  manmia  ?  " 

"  I  think  not,"  said  mamma,  and  went  away, 
looking  just  a  little  doubtful  as  she  entered  the 
sitting-room. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  grandpa  asked. 

"  I  hope  Ainslee  is  not  going  to  be  a  quarrel- 
some child,"  she  said.  "  Has  he  told  you  this 
new   difficulty?" 

"  Yes,"  said  grandpa.  "  He's  all  riglit.  He 
is  just  like  his  Uncle  Ainslee,  and  will  never 
stand  meanness  in  any  shape.  So  long  as  he 
fights  on  the  right  side,  and  he  is  tolerably  cer- 
tain always  to  do  that,  you  need  not  worry  about 
him  in  the  least.  This  Sampson  evidently  needs 
to  be  taken  in  hand,  and  it  is  far  better  for  us 
big  people  to  have  as  little  as  possible  to  do  in 
the  settlement  of  such  matters.     A  child's  sense 


SNOW-DRIFTS.  207 

of  justice  is  strong  enougli  to  cany  him  through 
safely,  and  Sampson  will  be  all  the  better  for  a 
good  washing." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  said  mamma,  and  there  the 
subject  dropped. 

Sampson  had  sneaked  home  when  school  was 
out,  climbing  a  fence,  and  going  'cross  lots 
through  the  snow,  but  seeing  there  were  no  signs 
of  being  followed,  grew  bolder,  and  by  the  time 
next  morning  came,  decided  that  the  boys  did 
not  mean  to  take  any  notice  of  the  matter,  and 
so  walked  to  school  over  his  usual  road.  At 
the  foot  of  the  hill.  Tommy  Martin,  Ainslee,  and 
Sinny,  were  standing,  near  almost  the  last  of  the 
snow-drifts,  but  they  were  not  looking  at  him, 
and  he  passed  on  whistling. 

"  Here,  you  Samp  !  "  Tommy  Martin  suddenly 
cried  out.  "  Do  you  know  what  you're  going 
to  get?  We  ain't  going  to  lick  you,  for  you're 
not  worth  the  trouble,  but  we're  going  to  wash 
your  face  well." 

Sampson  prepared  to  run,  but  Tommy  caught 
him,  and  while  Ainslee  held  one  leg,  and  Sinny 
the  other,  tight  as  a  vice,  scrubbed  his  face  Avith 
handful  after  handful  of  the  wet  snow.  ' 

"  I'll  tell  Miss  Barrett  !  "     Sampson  howled. 

"  Tell  away  !  "  said  Tommy.  "  The  more 
you  tell,    the    more  you'll  catch  it,  that's    all." 


208  THE  AINSLEE   STORIES. 

"  ILm-o,  you  yoiini;  uus,  what  you  doiug 
there?"  calleMl  out  Stephen  Jones,  who  came 
up  at  that  moment. 

"  Giving  Samp  Simmons  a  scrubhing,  to  pay 
for  lying  and  telling  tales  yesterday,"  said 
Tommy,  going  on  with  his  work. 

"  I  think  I'll  have  something  to  do  with  that," 
said  Stephen.  "  Look  a-here,  Sampson  ;  you've 
sneaked  round  this  whole  term,  telling  every- 
thing you  saw,  and  some  things  you  didn't, 
and  you've  just  got  to  stop  it.  I'm  going  to 
pitch  you  into  tliat  snow-bank  now,  and  maybe 
when  you  come  out  you'll  mend  your  manners." 

"  Don't,  oh  don't,"  screamed  Sampson.  "  I 
won't  ever  tell  again  !  Don't  let  him,  Ainslee. 
I'll  let  you  have  my  end  of  the  seat  all  the 
time,  and  I'll  " — 

Wliat  else  Sampson  might  have  promised  no- 
body knows,  for  heels  over  head  he  went  into 
the  drift,  floundering  out  a  minute  later,  to  find 
the  coast  clear  ;  not  a  boy  to  be  seen.  Whim- 
pering, he  shook  himself,  and  then  felt  in  his 
pockets.  His  books  were  scattered  around,  and 
his  dinner  was  nowhere. 

"  My  knife's  gone,  and  all  my  string,"  groaned 
Sampson,  after  a  minute's  search,  and  he  sat 
down  in  the  road  and  cried  forlornly. 

"  What's    tlie  matter  ?  "  said   little   Amanda, 


SNOW-DRIFTS.  209 

who,  walking  along,  had  seen  him,  and  thought 
at  first  she  would  run  right  by  as  fast  as  she 
could,  but  whose  tender  little  heart  melted  as 
she  heard  him  crying. 

"  Get  out,"  said  Sampson.  "  I've  lost  my 
knife  and  everything,  and  my  dinner's  all 
spilled." 

"  I'll  give  you  some  o'  mine,"  said  Amanda. 

"  Don't  want  it,"  said  Sampson,  eying  her. 

Amanda  walked  on,  and  Sampson  picked  up 
his  books,  finding  his  knife  near  one  of  them, 
and  then  followed  her. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing,  sir  ?  "  said  Miss 
Barrett,  who  walked  into  the  school-room  at  the 
same  time  as  he. 

"  Been  in  a  drift,"  said  Sampson,  who  caught 
a  meaning  look  from  Tommy. 

"  Go  and  warm  yourself,'.'  said  Miss  Barrett, 
"  and  don't  you  do  sucli  a  silly  thing  again,  when 
you  know  it's  school-time." 

Ainslee  and  Sinny  had  capital  lessons  that  day, 
and  at  noon  Tommy  Martin  was  presented  with 
the  very  best  their  dinner- baskets  contained. 
Mamma  made  no  comments  when  she  heard  of 
the  morning's  work  ;  and  as  for  Sampson,  I  don't 
think  he  told  his  mother  one  word  about  it. 
Whether  it  made  him  a  better  boy  in  any  way, 
you   will  find  out  as  the  story  goes  on.     Fear  is 

14 


210  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

not  the  best  reason  in  the  world  for  doing  right ; 
but  if  Sampson  begins  to  be  better,  because  he  is 
afraid  not  to  be,  he  may  end,  by  loving  to  be 
good  for  its  own  sake  ;  and  if  he  does,  neither 
he  nor  you  will  ever  be  sorry  for  what  happened 
at  the  foot  of  the  hill. 


xrv. 

Amanda's  party. 

Grandma  and  mamma  were  in  the  sitting- 
room  by  the  window,  sewing.  A  Hght  snow 
which  had  fallen  the  night  before,  covered  the 
ground,  but  the  morning  sun  shining  brightly 
down,  was  doing  its  best  to  make  way  with  it. 
Around  the  old  well,  the  green  heads  of  the 
daffodils  were  peeping  out,  and  that  very  day 
a  bluebird  had  fixed  upon  the  spot  for  a  nest 
in  the  Harvest  apple-tree.  Spring  was  coming, 
—  a  New  England  spring,  which  nobody  would 
know  much  about  till  summer  months  had  filled 
its  place,  —  so  slowly  came  green  leaves  and 
springing  grass ;  and  yet  mamma  thought,  as 
she  looked  from  the  window  down  to  the  mill- 
brook,  where  the  willows  grew,  how  much 
more  beautiful  it  seemed  than  a  country  where 
trees  and  grass  are  always  green,  and  the  eye 
tires  of  the  never-changino;  color. 

Ainslee,  standing  on  the  school-house  steps 
pulling  on  his  mittens,  hardly  knew  one  season 
from    another.     Spring   for    him,  meant    willow 


212  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

wliistles,  kite-flying,  and  new  maple-sugar,  three 
tilings  of  which  he  had  known  almost  nothing 
till  this  year;  and  as  he  stood  there  waiting  for 
Tommy  and  Amanda,  Avho  were  whispering  be- 
hind the  stove,  all  he  thought  was,  whether  the 
old  knife  Uncle  Ainslee  had  given  him  would 
cut  a  good  whistle,  or  if  mamma  must  be  asked 
for  a    new  one. 

"  Wait,"  Tommy  called  to  two  or  three  of 
the  children  who  had  started  off,  and  Amanda 
came  from  behind  the  stove,  looking  quite  im- 
portafit. 

"What  you  doing?"  said  Ainslee,  walking 
into  the  school-room.     "  Why  don't  you  come  ?  " 

Sinny's  woolly  head  looked  in  over  Ainslee's 
shoulder,  and  Billy  Howard,  whose  mother  was 
the  village  milliner,  drew  back  a  little,  in  order 
not  to  be  too  near  him. 

"  'Mandy's  five  years  old  Friday,"  said  Tom- 
my, looking  about  him,  "  and  mother  says 
she  can  have  a  party,  an'  we  want  you  all  to 
come." 

"  Hi !  "  said  Sinny,  whirling  around  on  one 
heel.     "  Won't  it  be  fun  ?  " 

"  I  ain't  a-coming  if  he  does,"  said  Billy  How- 
ard.    "  Not  a  step." 

"  Oh,  he  isn't  coming,"  said  Tommy,  "  Mother 
said  he  wasn't  to  come." 


AMANDA'S  PARTY.  213 

Sinny's  face  fell,  and  he  walked  out  toward 
the  entry,  but  stopped  as  Ainslee  said,  — 

"  Then  I  won't  come  if  he  don't." 

"  Oh  yes,  you  will,"  said  Amanda.  "  I  want 
you  more'n  anybody  'most." 

"  Then  Sinny's  to  come  too,"  Ainslee  an- 
swered. "  Sinny  and  Tommy  is  the  best  boys 
to  play  with  there  is  in  school." 

"  We  don't  go  with  niggers,"  said  Billy  How- 
ward.  "  And  my  mother  says  your  mother's  a 
very  queer  woman  to  let  you  be  with  Sinny 
Smith  all  the  time  ;  and  she  guesses  you  ain't 
much  when  you're  in  New  York,  or  you  would 
n't  do  it." 

"  You  get  your  mother  to  let  Sinny  come, 
Amanda,"  said  Ainslee,  paying  no  attention 
to  Billy.     "Don't  you  want  him  to?" 

"  No,  I  don't,"  said  Amanda.  "  He  ain't 
anything  but  a  little  nigger  any  way.  Mother 
says  you're  Bobolitioners,  and  that's  the  reason 
you  go  with  'em  all  the  time." 

"  I  ain't  a  Bobolitioner,"  said  Ainslee.  "  Sinny 
is  as  good  as  you  are." 

"  Oh,  ain't  you  'shamed  !  "  said  Amanda.  "  I 
won't  speak  to  yon  again  ever.  You  needn't 
come  to  the  party  if  you  don't  want  to.  I  don't 
care." 

"  Oh,    come    now  !  "    said   Tommv.     "  Don't 


214  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

you  be  hateful,  Ainslee.  All  the  rest  are  com- 
ing. 'Mandy  don't  mean  anything.  Sinny's 
good  to  play  -with  here,  but  ain't  fit  to  come  to 
a  party." 

Sinny  took  out  a  grimy  little  pocket-hand- 
kerchief, which  had  the  Ten  Commandments 
printed  on  it,  and  sitting  down  on  his  bench,  be- 
gan to  cry. 

"  Don't  you  ciy,  Sinny,"  said  Ainslee,  turn- 
ing from  Amanda.  "  I  like  you  better  than  any- 
body; let's  go  home." 

Amanda  made  a  face  at  him,  and  said,  "  Who 
cares?"  and  Sampson,  who  had  been  listening 
attentively,  made  ready  to  turn  a  somerset,  but 
reflecting  that  Amanda  micrht  not  invite  him  if 
he  did,  stopped  just  in  time.  Ainslee  walked 
home  with  a  very  heavy  heart.  To  quarrel 
with  Amanda  was  something  he  had  never  ex- 
pected  ;  he  scarcely  spoke  to  Smny,  who,  in  his 
turn,  was  very  melancholy,  and  went  in  at  once 
to  his  mother,  when  they  came  to  old  Peter 
Smith's.  Ainslee  walked  on  slowly,  swinging 
his  dinner-basket,  till  he  reached  the  backdoor. 
Ann  heard  his  step,  and  looked  out  from  the 
buttery  window. 

"  Come  in  here,"  said  she.  "  I've  got  some- 
thing for  you." 

Ainslee  ran  in  to  meet  Ann,  Avho  held  in  her 
hand  a  pie,  baked  in  a  small  saucer. 


AMANDA'S  PARTY.  215 

"  Mince  !  "  she  said.  "  What  do  you  think  o' 
that,  Ainslee  ?  " 

"  Nice,"  said  Ainslee,  who  had  been  begging 
for  one  some  time.  "  But  I  guess  I'll  save  it, 
Ann,"  and  he  went  toward  the  stairs  leading  to 
mamma's  room. 

"  Your  ma  ain't  there,"  called  Ann.  "  She's 
in  the  kitchen." 

"  Yes,"  said  mamma's  voice,  and  I'd  hke  you 
to  do  something  for  me  too." 

"  Oh,  what  smells  so  good  ? "  said  Ainslee, 
running  into  the  kitchen.  "  What  is  you  mak- 
ing, mamma?" 

"  Caramels,"  mamma  answered.  "  And  now  I 
wish  you  would  ask  Ann  for  a  little  tin  pan,  and 
go  out  and  fill  it  with  the  cleanest  snow  you  can 
find." 

"It's  beautiful  all  over  the  choppin'-log," 
said  Ainslee.     "  I  could  fill  lots  o'  tin  pans." 

"  One  will  do,"  said  mamma,  "  and  the  sooner 
it  is  here  the  better,  for  this  syrup  has  boiled 
quite  long  enough,  I  think." 

Ainslee  ran  out  to  the  old  log,  and  was  back 
in  a  minute  with  a  panful. 

"  You're  going  to  do  it  like  welasses  candy, 
ain't  you,  mamma  ?  "  he  said.  "  You  want  me  to 
try  it,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes  !  "  said  mamma,  smiling  a  little,  and 


216  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

pouring  a  spoonful  over  the  snow.  "  How  could 
I  know  if  it  were  good,  unless  you  tried  it?" 

Ainslee  watched  the  hot  syrup  sinking  and 
spreading  in  the  snow,  till  the  edges  curled  up, 
and  it  lay  there,  a  crisp,  delightful  mouthful. 

"  You  half,  an'  me  half,  mamma,"  he  said, 
"  so't  we  can  both  tell  the  very  same  minute," 
and  he  put  his  half  into  his  mouth  just  as  mamma 
put  hers. 

"  Jielasses  candy  is  good,"  he  said,  "  but  cal- 
amels  is  ever  so  much  better.  What  made  you 
make  'em,  mamma  ?  " 

"  I  heard  this  morning  that  something  was  to 
happen  Friday,"  said  mamma,  "  and  I  thought 
you  would  like  to  carry  Amanda  some  very  nice 
candy.  Now  I  am  going  to  pour  it  all  into  this 
great  buttered  pan ;  we'll  set  it  in  the  well-house, 
and  in  a  few  minutes  you  shall  see  something 
else." 

Ainslee  watched  mamma  till  the  hot  candy  had 
cooled  enough  to  be  cut  into  little  squares,  and 
was  put  safely  away  in  the  store-room. 

"It's  good,"  he  said  then;  "but  you  an' 
grandma  can  eat  it  all  up.  I  expose  I  ain't 
going  to  take  any  to  Amanda." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  said  mamma,  astonished  ;  and 
then  seeing  from  Ainslee's  grave  face  that  there 
was  some  trouble,  added,  "  Come  up-staii's,  dear. 


AMANDA'S  PARTY.  217 

and  we  will  talk  about  it,  while  I  am  getting  all 
this  stickiness  off  my  hands." 

"I  ain't  a-going  to  Amanda's  party  unless 
Sinny  does,"  said  Ainslee,  as  they  reached  her 
room.  "  She  says  Sinny's  nothing  but  a  little 
nigger,  and  ain't  fit  to  come  to  parties,  and  I 
think  he's  just  as  nice  a  boy  as  Tommy  Martin. 
Billy  Howard  said  I  was  a  Bobolitioner,  an'  you 
too.  He's  most  as  hateful  a  boy  as  Samp  Sim- 
mons, and  I  expose  I  sha'n't  like  Amanda  any 
more  ever,"  and  here  Ainslee  broke  down,  and 
began  to  cry. 

"  I  don't  tliink  Sinny  would  like  to  go  to  the 
party,"  said  mamma,  sitting  down  in  her  low 
rockincr-chair,  and  drawino;  Ainslee  to  her. 

"  Oh,  but  yes  he  would,  mamma,"  said  Ainslee  ; 
"  an'  he  cried  when  Amanda  said  he  wasn't  fit 
to  come  to  parties.  He  shall  come  to  all  mine, 
any  way." 

"  I  don't  know  whether  it  would  be  best  or 
not,"  said  mamma,  after  a  few  moments'  silence. 
"I  rather  think  not." 

"  Why,  mamma,"  said  Ainslee,  indignantly, 
"  I  thought  you  liked  Sinny.  I  didn't  know  you 
was  fjoinof  to  be  mean  too." 

"  Hush,  dear,"  said  mamma,  gently.  "  By 
and  by,  perhaps  not  till  you  are  old  enough  to 
have  children  of  your  own,  I  hope  the  time  will 


218  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

have  come,  wlien  no  one  will  stop  to  think 
whether  people  are  black  or  white,  so  long  as 
they  do  right;  but  now  almost  every  one  dislikes 
to  have  much  to  do  with  negroes,  except  as  ser- 
vants. Sinny  is  quite  as  bright  a  boy  as  Tommy 
Martin,  and  Tommy  would  be  glad  enough  to 
have  him  at  the  party,  if  his  father  and  mother 
had  not  taught  him  that  he  must  not  be  too  much 
with  '  niggers.'  All  the  children  feel  so,  because 
they  have  always  heard  it  at  home  ;  and  even 
if  Sinny  went,  he  would  not  have  a  good  time. 
They  would  either  refuse  to  play  with  him,  or 
say  such  unkind  things,  that  Sinny  would  feel 
much  worse  than  if  he  had  stayed  at  home. 
You  don't  want  that  he  should  have  to  cry 
again,  do  you  ?  " 

"  No,  mamma,"  said  Ainslee  ;  "  but  when  they 
all  play  with  him  at  school,  I  don't  see  wh}"-  they 
shouldn't  at  the  party." 

"It  isn't  easy  to  understand,"  said  mamma. 
"  One  thing  is,  that  people  as  poor  as  most  ne- 
groes are,  cannot  s&nd  their  children  to  school 
very  much,  and  so  they  know  less  than  white 
children,  and  often  get  into  wicked  ways,  which 
fathers  and  mothers  do  not  want  their  little  boys 
and  girls  to  learn.  A  good  many  of  them,  I  dare 
say,  think  Sinny  is  just  like  a  great  many  colored 
children,  dirty,  and  full  of  naughty  ways,  when 


AMANDA'S  PARTY.  219 

really  he  is  a  nice  little  boy.  If  all  colored 
children  were  brought  up  as  he  is,  people  would 
soon  foro;et  the  difference  between  black  and 
white." 

"Well,"  said  Ainslee,  "it's  a  mean  shame 
any  way.  He's  as  clean  as  any  of  'em,  only 
clean  don't  show  on  him.  Can't  I  give  him 
some  calamels,  mamma?" 

"Yes,"  said  mamma.  "I'll  give  you  a  few 
to  take  to  school  to-morrow,  and  you  can  share 
with  him  if  you  like.  Now  we  will  go  down 
and  see  grandma." 

"  Amanda  don't  know  any  better,  does  she, 
mamma  ? "  said  Ainslee,  stopping  on  the  way 
down-stairs. 

"She  does  just  what  her  father  and  mother 
have  taught  her,  I  suppose,"  mamma  answered. 

"  Then  I  can  make  up  with  her  if  I'm  a  mind 
to,  can't  I  ?  and  I'll  tell  Sinny  he  wouldn't 
have  a  good  time  if  he  did  go  to  the  party, 
'cause  nobody  knows  enough  to  let  him." 

"Very  well,"  said  mamma,  smiling,  and  Ains- 
lee, whose  appetite  had  all  come  back,  went  to 
Ann  for  his  mince-pie. 

Sinny  stood  at  the  gate  next  morning,  waiting 
for  him,  and  the  two  children  walked  on  together. 

"I  don't  care  much  if  I  don't  go  to  the  party," 
said  Sinny,  after  a  time.     "  I  told  gran'ther,  an' 


220  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

he  said  I  needn't  care  a  speck  ;  and  when  he 
went  down  to  the  Falls,  he'd  buy  me  a  first-rate 
little  wairon,  to  haul  stones  or  anvthinof  in :  bio; 
enough  to  haul  you  in  if  I  was  a  mind  to." 

"You  draw  me,  an'  then  I'll  draw  you,"  said 
Ainslee,  delighted.  "  I've  got  something  in  my 
basket  for  you  :  calamels  !  " 

"  What's  them?  "  said  Sinny. 

"Eat  one  an'  see,"  said  Ainslee,  handing  him 
one.    "  My  mamma  made  'em  ;  ain't  they  good?  " 

"  Bully !  "  said  Sinny.  "  How  many  you 
goin'  to  give  me  ?  " 

"Three  more,"  said  Ainslee.  "Four  a-piece, 
mamma  gived  me,  I'm  o-oino;  to  eat  one  now, 
so's  to  be  even  with  you,  an'  let's  save  the  rest 
for  recess." 

"  Well,"  said  Sinny,  and  just  then  they  came 
up  to  Tommy  and  Amanda,  walking  with  Billy 
Howai'd  and  Sampson  Simmons. 

"  Don't  you  tell  Amanda  I  gived  you  any  cal- 
amels," whispered  Ainslee  to  Sinny,  wishing  to 
surprise  her  when  to-morrow  came. 

"Don't  tell  Amanda  what?"  said  Sampson, 
who  had  heard  the  whisper.  "  Ainslee's  got  a 
secret  from  you,  'Mandy.  He  tells  Sinny  things, 
an'  he  won't  tell  you." 

"I'm  going  to  tell  her  to-morrow,"  said  Ains- 
lee, looking  indignantly  at  Sampson. 


AMANDA'S   PARTY.  221 

"  I  don't  want  to  know,"  said  Amanda  ;  "  he 
needn't  tell  me  anything.  I  don't  like  him. 
What  you  eatin',  Sinny  ?  " 

"  Nothin',"  said  Sinny. 

"  You  be,  too,"  said  Sampson,  trying  to  snatch 
the  caramel  Sinny  had  in  his  hand.  "  What's 
that  ?     It's  molasses  candy,  I  bet." 

"  'Tain't  no  such  a  thing,"  said  Sinny.  "  It's 
New  York  candy,  and  there  don't  anybody  have 
'em  but  Ainslee  Barton.  You  can't  get  one  of 
'em." 

"I  should  think  you  might  give  some  to 
'Mandy,"  said  Tommy. 

"Well,  I  will,"  said  Ainslee.  "I  mean  I'd 
just  as  soon,  only  I  don't  want  to  now." 

"  I  wouldn't  take  'em,  any  way,"  said  Billy 
Howard.  "  He  gives  'em  to  Sinny,  an'  don't 
give  none  to  you.     He's  mean  as  dirt." 

"  So  he  is,"  said  Amanda.  "  I  don't  want 
any  o'  your  old  candy.  I  wish  I  hadn't  asked 
you  to  my  party." 

"I  don't  much  want  to  come  now,  any  way," 
Ainslee  began,  with  tears  in  his  eyes. 

«  Oh,  bother !  "  said  Tommy.  "  What's  the 
use  o'  fighting  every  minute  ?  Look  a-here, 
Ainslee,  ain't  that  a  nice  whistle  ?  "  and  Tommy 
blew  a  soft,  clear  note,  almost  like  a  flute. 

"  I   know  how  to  make  one,"  said    Ainslee, 


222  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

half  forgetting  Amanda.  "Joe  Culligan  showed 
me  how,  only  my  knife  won't  cut  sharp.  I  wish 
I  had  a  new  one.     I'm  tired  of  this  old  thino;." 

Ding  dong  went  the  school-bell,  and  the  chil- 
dren hiirried  on  to  the  school-room.  Sampson 
took  the  end  of  the  bench  next  to  Amanda,  and 
Ainslee  let  him.  Amanda  was  "  put  out "  still, 
and  till  she  made  up,  he  might  as  well  be  in  the 
middle  as  anywhere.  So  he  went  to  work  at  his 
spelling  lesson,  and  Amanda,  who  felt  half  sorry 
now  for  what  she  had  said,  and  who  meant  to 
smile  when  he  looked  up,  grew  first  tired,  and 
then  ci'oss  again,  at  having  to  wait  so  long,  and 
finally  turned  her  attention  to  Sampson. 

"I'll  play  I  like  Sampson  best,"  she  said  to 
herself,  "  and  then  maybe  Ainslee'll  be  sorry  he 
didn't  give  me  candy  instead  o'  Sinny." 

So  she  picked  up  a  splinter  fi'om  the  floor,  and 
Avrapping  it  in  a  bit  of  paper  she  tore  from  her 
Reader,  threw  it  at  Sampson  the  first  time  Ains- 
lee looked  toward  her.  Sampson  put  it  in  his 
pocket  as  though  it  were  something  very  choice 
indeed,  and  nodded  to  Amanda,  who  smiled,  and 
nodded  back  again,  and  Ainslee  felt  very  miser- 
able,—  so  miserable,  that  he  missed  two  words 
of  his  spelling,  and  forgot  his  table,  and  when 
recess  time  came,  was  kept  in ;  and  instead  of 
making  up  at  once  with  Amanda  as  he  had  in- 


AMANDA'S  PARTY.  223 

tended,  couldn't  even  speak  to  her,  but  saw  her 
walk  out  with  Sampson,  who  made  faces  at  him 
through  the  window,  till  Miss  Barrett  rapped  on 
it,  and  sent  him  awaj. 

After  recess  it  was  just  as  bad.  Sampson  was 
delighted  at  the  turn  things  seemed  to  have 
taken,  and  believing  the  best  way  to  keep  in  fa- 
vor was  to  abuse  Ainslee,  crowded  against  him, 
and  knocked  his  books  to  the  floor,  and  finally 
sat  very  still  a  few  minutes,  contriving  something 
which  should  not  be  seen  by  Miss  Barrett  so 
easily  as  his  other  ways  of  plaguing.  The  re- 
sult was,  that  Ainslee,  bending  over  his  Reader, 
was  startled  by  a  sharp  prick,  which  certainly 
came  from  Sampson's  side.  He  looked  up.  Both 
Sampson's  hands  were  holding  his  Spelling-book, 
and  could  not  have  done  it. 

"I  expose  there's  a  pin  in  my  sleeve,"  said  he 
to  himself,  turning  away,  and  feeling  up  his  arm, 
"No  there  isn't.  What  did  prick  me  so  ?  Ouch ! " 
he  cried,  jumping  up  suddenly,  for  there  it  came 
again. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  sir  ?  "  said  Miss  Barrett, 
severely. 

"  Something  pricked  me  dreadful,"  said  Ains- 
lee.    "  It  was  Sampson,  I  do  believe." 

*'  There  ain't  a  single  pin  anywheres  in  my 
hand,"  said  Sampson.  "  I've  been  studying  my 
spelling  lesson  every  minute." 


224  THE  AIXSLEE   STORIES. 

"See  that  you  don't  do  it  again,  if  it  was 
you,"  said  Miss  Barrett. 

"Maybe  he  pricked  himself,  an'  then  said  it 
was  me,"  said  Sampson. 

"  Oh,  ain't  you  a  liorrid"  —  began  Ainslee, 
but  Miss  Barrett  stopped  him. 

"Not  a  word  more.  If  you  do  such  a  thino; 
as  that,  Ainslee  Barton,  I  shall  have  to  ruler 
you  on  both  hands.     Now  study  your  lesson." 

Ainslee  turned  to  his  book,  feeling  as  if  every- 
thing were  against  him,  and  studied  a  few  min- 
utes till  a  still  sharper  prick  made  him  quite 
desperate. 

"I  won't  sit  still  and  be  pricked  every  min- 
ute!  "  he  shouted.  "Ho!  look  a-there  now! 
He's  got  it  in  his  sleeve.  Miss  Barrett,  sticking 
right  out  at  his  elbow." 

"  Come  up  here,  both  of  you,  this  minute," 
said  Miss  Barrett.  "  So  that's  the  way  you  do, 
is  it,  Sampson  Simmons?"  and  she  drew  out  a 
pin  which  Sampson  had  bent  in  his  elbow  in  such 
a  way  that,  with  a  very  slight  motion,  he  could 
stick  it  into  Ainslee,  and  which  he  had  tried  in 
vain  to  pull  out  before  Miss  Barrett  should  see 
it.  "Ainslee  Barton,  you  go  stand  in  the  entry 
for  making  such  a  noise ;  and  Sampson,  you  hold 
out  your  hand." 

Sampson  went  back  to  his  seat  in  a  few  mo- 


AMANDA'S   PARTY.  225 

ments  with  liis  arm  over  his  eyes,  and  was  too 
busy  with  crying  for  some  time,  to  pay  any  at- 
tention to  Amanda.  At  noon  Ainslee  ran  home 
fast  as  lie  could  go,  not  waiting  to  eat  his  lunch 
with  the  others  as  usual,  and  stamped  into  the 
kitchen  with  such  a  red  face,  that  Ann  looked  at 
him  astonished. 

"  What  now,  Ainslee  ?  "  said  mamma,  as  he 
sat  down  in  his  small  chair,  and  threw  his  books 
on  grandma's  lounge. 

"  I  hate  Sampson,  and  I  don't  love  Amanda 
one  speck,"  poor  Ainslee  began.  "  Amanda 
won't  play  with  me,  or  speak  to  me,  and  she 
wasn't  sorry  when  Sampson  stuck  pins  in  me, 
an'  I  had  to  stand  in  the  entry.  I'd  cry,  if  I 
wasn't  so  mad  with  her." 

Pretty  soon  mamma  knew  the  whole  story, 
and  Ainslee  felt  very  much  better  when  it  was 
told. 

"  Everything  will  come  right  to-morrow,"  she 
said.  "  Amanda  will  like  the  caramels  very 
much,  and  I  don't  think  she  is  really  angry 
either.  You  will  make  up  at  the  party,  I  am 
quite  sure." 

"  Any  way,  I  wish  Samp  wasn't  going  to  be 
there,"  said  Ainslee.  "  I  never  did  know  such 
an  ugly  boy."  4pB*^ 

"  Treat  him  as  well  as  you  can,"  said  mamma, 

15 


226  THE  aixslp:e  stories. 

"  and  perliaps  he  will  be  better  by  and  by,"  and 
Ainslee  went  down  to  the  kitchen  for  some  hot 
gingerbread,  feeling  much  more  hopeful. 

Amanda  was  not  at  school  the  next  morning, 
and  as  Sampson  was  sulking,  and  said  nothing, 
Ainslee  had  a  very  comfortable  time,  and  went 
home  at  noon  in  high  spirits.  Nurse  had  laid 
his  gray  suit  on  the  bed  in  mamma's  room,  and 
he  wanted  to  be  dressed  at  once. 

"  You'll  get  into  the  pig-pen  the  minute  you 
are,"  said  nui'se.  "  I  sha'n't  put  on  your  best 
clothes  till  your  ma  says  so." 

Ainslee  ran  to  ask  her,  and  found  her  in 
grandmamma's  room,  busy  looking  over  the  draw- 
ers of  an  old  bureau. 

"Oh,  what's  in  'em?"  said  he.  "Let  me 
look  too,  mamma." 

"Nothing  you  will  care  to  see,"  said  mamma. 
"  If  you  were  a  little  girl,  you  would  beg  for 
those  pieces  of  ribbon  and  lace  ;  as  it  is,  I  don't 
see  anything  here  but  this  pipe,  which  can  do 
you  any  good." 

"  A  pipe  can't.  I  don't  want  a  pipe,"  said 
Ainslee.  "  Oh,  I  do  too !  I  know  what  you 
mean !  I  can  blow  bubbles.  Mayn't  I  blow 
'em  whef^JJbaby  can  see  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  mamma.  "  Ask  Ann  to  make 
you  some  strong  soap-suds,  and  be  careftil  not  to 
spill  any  as  you  go  up-stairs." 


AMANDA'S  PARTY.  227 

Here  was  work  for  an  afternoon,  and  Ainslee 
carried  his  pipe  and  suds  up  to  the  nursery,  and 
put  them  in  the  wide  window-seat,  where  the 
sun  shone  in  on  each  bubble  he  blew.  Some  he 
dropped  on  the  board  in  front  of  baby's  chair, 
who  clutched  them,  and  then  looked  at  his  fat 
fingers,  wondering  why  there  was  nothing  in 
them.  Nurse  shoAved  him  how  to  drop  one  small 
one  after  another  from  the  pipe,  so  that  four  or 
five  were  on  the  carpet  at  once,  and  then  he 
made  great  ones,  and  blew  them  up  into  the  air. 
There  were  so  many  things  which  could  be 
done,  and  the  stopping  to  talk  to  baby  took  up 
so  much  time,  that  he  was  surprised  when  half 
past  tliree  came,  and  nurse  said  she  was  ready  to 
give  him  a  bath.  By  four  o'clock  Ainslee  was 
quite  ready  to  start,  and  mamma  brought  in  a 
gay  little  basket  she  had  bought  from  an  Indian 
long  ago,  almost  filled  with  the  caramels. 

"  This  is  your  birthday  present  to  Amanda," 
she  said,  "  and  you  can  hand  it  to  her  when  you 
say  '  How  d'ye  do.'  " 

Ainslee  walked  off,  after  hugging  mamma  hard, 
thinking  he  should  have  no  trouble  at  all  in 
speaking  to  Amanda,  but  as  he  drew  nearer  to 
the  house,  remembered  all  that  had  hM)pened  the 
day  before,  and  almost  wished  he-had  stayed  at 
home.     Too  late  for  that  though,  for  Tommy, 


228  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

standing  in  the  door,  had  spied  liini,  and  ran  out 
at  once,  to  find  out  what  could  be  in  the  basket. 

"You  ought  to  a-seen  how  slick  all  the  boys 
an'  girls  looked  in  school  this  afternoon,"  said 
Tommy.  "  They  was  all  dressed  so's  to  come 
right  to  the  party  after  school,  an'  Miss  Barrett 
asked  if  they  thought  it  was  Sunday.  She  didn't 
know  it  was  'Mandy's  birthday.  What  you  got 
in  that  basket,  Ainslee  ?  " 

"  Somethincr  for  Amanda,"  said  Ainslee.  "  Let's 
hurry  in." 

Mrs.  Martin  met  him  at  the  door,  and  told 
him  he  could  go  into  her  room  and  take  his  coat 
and  cap  off,  and  then  stand  on  a  stool  before  the 
glass  and  see  if  his  hair  was  tumbled.  Ainslee 
hurried  through  with  this,  and  then  went  into  the 
parlor  wdth  little  Charley  Stearns,  who  didn't 
dare  go  alone. 

Amanda  stood  in  one  corner,  dressed  in  white, 
with  several  of  the  little  girls  about  her,  and  for 
half  a  second  Ainslee  hesitated.  Then  he  went 
to  her  and  held  out  the  basket. 

"  I'm  real  glad  you're  five  years  old,"  he  said, 
"  and  here's  something  'cause  you  are." 

Amanda  turned  very  red  as  she  took  the  bas- 
ket, and  said  "  Thank  you  "  in  so  low  a  voice, 
Ainslee  could  hardly  hear  her. 

"  You'll  give  me  some,  won't  you,  'Mandy  ?  " 
said  Samjison,  looking  over  her  shoulder. 


AMANDA'S    PARTY.  229 

"  No,  I  won't,"  said  Amanda,  so  suddenly,  that 
Sampson  stepped  back  quickly.  "  You  ain't  a 
nice  boy.     I  can't  bear  you." 

"  Hity  tity  !  "  said  Mrs.  Martin,  who  had  just 
come  in.  "  Don't  you  quarrel  any  at  your 
party,  'Mandy.  Why  don't  you  play  some- 
thing ?  " 

"  We're  goin'  to  this  minute,"  said  Tommy. 
"  Come  on  ;  let's  have  '  Fox  an'  Geese.'  " 

One  game  followed  another,  and  the  children 
were  surprised  when  Mrs.  Martin  opened  the 
door  into  the  dining-room,  and  told  them  it  was 
time  to  come  to  supper. 

"  They've  got  five  kinds  o'  cake,  besides  dough- 
nuts," whispered  Sampson  to  Billy  Howard.  "  I 
peeked  in  a  good  while  ago,  an'  counted  when 
there  wasn't  anybody  looking,  an'  I'm  going  to 
eat  every  kind  there  is.  Maybe  I'll  have  two 
pieces  o'  each." 

"  I  don't  believe  you  will,"  said  Tommy,  who 
was  close  behind.  "  You  ain't  coin'  to  have 
more'n  anybody  else." 

Sampson  looked  a  little  ashamed,  but  as  Dr. 
Brown  was  seen  at  his  mother's  door  next  morn- 
ing, and  he  was  out  of  school  for  two  or  three 
days,  I  rather  think  he  had  all  he  said  he  would, 
and  perhaps  more. 

As  the  supper  ended,  and  the  children  flocked 


230  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

back  to  the  parlor,  Amanda  came  up  close  to 
Ainslee. 

"  Stay  here  a  minute,"  she  said.  "  Mother's 
got  something  for  you." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Martin.  "  'Mandy  told  me 
you  wanted  Sinny  to  come  to  the  party,  an'  she 
wouldn't  give  me  any  peace,  teasin'  me  to  let 
him.  I  wasn't  going  to  do  that,  but  I  told  her 
she  could  have  some  cake  an'  things  for  him,  an' 
if  you  was  a  mind  to,  you  could  stop  at  Sinny's 
going  home  with  your  grandpa,  an'  give  'em  to 
him." 

"  Why,  ain't  that  nice  ?  "  said  Ainslee,  whose 
face  was  one  broad  smile.  "  Won't  he  be  tick- 
led?    I  like  you,  Mrs.  Martin." 

"Do  you?"  said  Mrs.  Martin,  laughing. 
"  Well,  when  you're  ready  to  go  home,  you 
jest  come  out  here  an'  get  that  bundle." 

Ainslee  kept  close  by  Amanda  through  the 
rest  of  the  evening,  and  when  grandpa  came,  at 
half  past  seven,  would  have  objected  decidedly 
to  going  home,  had  it  not  been  for  the  bundle. 

"  Don't  let's  ever  not  make  up  again,  Aman- 
da," he  whispered  to  her,  as  Tommy  and  she 
followed  him  to  the  door. 

"  I  love  you,  Ainslee,"  Amanda  answered, 
*'  an'  I  ain't  ever  goin'  to  stop." 

"  What's    in    this    bundle,    Ainslee  ? "    said 


AMANDA'S   PARTY.  231 

grandpa,  as  tliey  walked  on.  "  'Tisn't  a  good 
plan  to  take  things  home  from  a  party." 

"They  ain't  mine  at  all,  grandpa,"  said  Ains- 
lee  ;  "  they're  all  for  Sinny.  Mrs.  Martin  said 
he  was  to  have  'em  'cause  he  didn't  come  to  the 
party,  an'  I  want  you  to  stop  at  Nancy's,  grand- 
pa, so's  to  give  'em  to  him." 

"  Won't  to-morrow  do?  " 

"  Why  no,  grandpa,"  said  Ainslee.  "  You 
wouldn't  want  to  wait,  if  you  was  a  little  boy, 
would  you  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't  suppose  I  should,"  grandpa 
answered,  and  by  this  time  they  were  at  old 
Peter  Smith's.  Grandpa  knocked  at  the  door, 
and  Nancy  opened  it,  looking  a  little  surprised 
to  see  Ainslee  at  such  a  late  hour. 

"Where's  Sinny?"  said  he,  running  in. 
"  He  isn't  in  bed,  is  he  ?  " 

"Yes  he  is,"  said  Nancy,  "an'  sound  asleep 
too.     What  you  want  ?  " 

"I  want  him  to  get  up  right  away,  quick," 
said  Ainslee.  "  Mayn't  he,  Nancy  ?  I've  got 
something  for  him." 

"  Well,  yes,"  said  Nancy,  after  a  minute. 
"You  can  go  with  me  an'  wake  him  up." 

Sinny's  woolly  head  lay  on  the  pillow,  his 
eyes  were  shut  tight,  and  Ainslee  looked  at  him 
a  moment  before  touchinir  him. 


232  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

"  Don't  he  look  funny  asleep  ? "  he  said. 
"  Sinny,  wake  up  !  Here's  something  for  you  ; 
wake  right  up  !  "  and  Ainslee  shook  him  as  hard 
as  he  could. 

"  You  stop  that,  Samp  Simmons,"  Sinny  said, 
sitting  up  in  bed,  and  opening  his  eyes.  "  I'll 
punch  you  if  you  don't.  Why,  Ainslee !  I 
didn't  know  it  was  you.  I  thought  it  was  school, 
an'  Samp  was  plaguing  me.     Ain't  it  night?" 

"  Yes,  it's  night,"  said  Ainslee.  "  But  Aman- 
da's sent  you  something  from  the  party,  an'  I've 
come  to  bring  it.  Come  into  the  kitchen  and 
see." 

Sinny  hopped  out  of  bed  and  into  the  kitchen 
in  his  yellow  flannel  night-gown,  and  sat  down  by 
the  table,  a  little  confused  at  finding  grandpa 
Walton  there. 

"  It's  a  big  bundle,"  he  said,  as  he  untied  the 
string  and  pulled  off  the  paper.  "  My-y  !  just 
look  a-here  I  "  and  Sinny  sat  quite  silent  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  laughed  aloud.  "■  Wliy,  there  's 
cake  with  sugar  on  top,  an'  nuts,  an'  raisins,  an' 
candy  —  three  sticks  !     Oh  I  " 

"  Lots  !  "  said  Ainslee.  "  What  will  you  do 
with  it  all,  Sinny  ?  " 

"  Eat  it  up,"  said  Sinny,  beginning  on  a  stick 
of  candy,  "  an'  I'll  give  some  to  mother,  an'  some 
to  gran'ther.  I'll  give  'Mandy  sun'thin'  too, 
only  I  don't  know  what." 


AMANDA'S   PARTY.  233 

"  Make  her  a  horse-hair  ring,"  said  Ainslee. 
"an'  I'll  give  you  some  red  beads  to  put    in  it." 

"  Then  you  come  up  here  to-morrow,"  said 
Sinny.  "  No,  I'll  come  down  to  your  house, 
'cause  I  want  some  black  hairs  out  o'  your 
horse's  tail.  I've  got  plenty  o'  white  ones  out 
of  ourn." 

Sinny  did  go  down  next  day,  and  with  the  red 
beads,  and  black  and  white  hair,  made  a  very 
pretty  ring.  Mrs.  Barton,  who  had  been  told  all 
about  it  by  Ainslee,  gave  them  a  little  white  box 
in  wdiich  a  thimble  had  come,  and  filled  it  with 
pink  cotton  on  which  to  lay  the  ring.  Then 
Ainslee  printed  AMANDUR  on  it,  in  large  let- 
ters, and  Mrs.  Barton  tied  it  up  nicely.  Sinny 
could  hardly  wait  over  Sunday,  and  took  it  out 
of  his  pocket  so  many  times,  that  his  mother  said 
it  would  be  all  worn  out  before  Amanda  got  it. 

Monday  morning  came  at  last,  and  Sinny  was 
on  the  school-house  steps  before  anybody  else. 
Billy  Howard  got  there  next,  and  then  Ainslee, 
and  then  Tommy  and  Amanda  came  in  sight. 
Sinny  ran  forward  to  meet  them,  for  he  did  not 
want  Billy  Howard  to  see. 

"  I've  got  something  for  you,  'Mandy,"  he 
said,  as  he  came  up  to  her.  "  I  made  it  all 
myself." 

Amanda  opened  the  box.  "  Why,  it's  a  ring !  " 


234  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

she  said.  "  I  never  had  a  ring.  Am't  it 
pretty?  " 

"  Ainslee  had  tlie  beads,  but  I  did  it,"  said 
Sinriy  ;  "  an'  1  made  it  just  to  fit  my  httlest  fin- 
ger, 'cause  yours  is  all  smaller'n  mine,  an'  Ains- 
lee's  is  fatter'n  any  of  us." 

"  It's  a  beauty !  "  said  Amanda,  putting  it  on, 
and  looking  at  it  with  great  admiration. 

"  I  wouldn't  wear  a  ring  he  made,"  said  Billy 
Howard,  who  had  run  to  them  fast  as  he  could, 
when  he  saw  them  all  stopping  together. 

"  Yes  you  would,  if  you  could  get  it,"  said 
Tommy. 

"  No  fear  he  will,"  Sinny  said.  "  I  don't  make 
rings  for  anybody  that  ain't  just  first-rate.  You 
get  out,  Billy  Howard." 

The  school-bell  rang,  and  Miss  Barrett  said 
"  Huny ! "  as  she  passed  on,  so  the  quarrel 
ended  there.  Amanda  looked  at  her  ring  so 
often,  that  she  almost  forgot  to  look  at  her 
lesson,  and  at  night  told  her  mother,  she 
thought  Sinny  was  'most  as  nice  for  a  black  boy 
as  Ainslee  for  a  white  one. 


XV. 

BARRELS    AND    BEANS. 

"  O  MAMMA  !  "  shouted  Ainslee,  running  in 
from  school  a  few  days  after  the  party,  "  there's 
croing  to  be  vacation  next  week  for  three  whole 
weeks,  an'  then  school's  going  to  begin  again. 
Miss  Barrett  said  it  would  begin  the  first  o'  June 
an'  keep  till  August ;  an'  then  there's  going  to  be 
a  Dezamination,  and  we've  all  got  to  speak  pieces. 
There's  going  to  be  people  and  eveiything 
to  hear  us.  Pick  out  a  nice  piece  for  me  to 
speak,  mamma." 

"  This  minute  ?  "  said  mamma.  "  Because,  if 
you  can  wait  a  little  while,  it  will  give  me  time 
to  try  on  this  cap." 

"What  cap?"  said  Ainslee.  "Why,  it's  a 
new  one  !     Is  it  for  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  mamma.  "  Your  winter  one  is 
very  shabby,  and  it  is  too  soon  to  put  on  a  straw 
hat,  so  I  have  made  you  a  Scotch  cap  from  these 
pieces  of  velvet.  You  can  keep  this  for  school, 
and  wear  the  old  one  when  you  are  playing  at 
home.     What  have  you  in  your  hand?" 


236         THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

"  Two  whistles,"  said  Ainslee.  "  I  made  'em 
botli,  only  Tommy  helped  me  with  one.  Sinny's 
in  the  wood-house,  and  we're  going  to  have  a 
concert  with  my  drum  and  a  tin  pan." 

"  Boo  !  "  said   a  voice  from  somewhere. 

"  Why,  what's  that  ?  "  said  Ainslee,  jumping. 

"  There  must  be  a  bear  under  the  bed,  I 
think,"  said  mamma.     "  Look  and  see." 

Ainslee  lifted  the  valance,  but  before  he  could 
really  see,  was  caught  by  the  leg  and  held  tight, 
while  somebody  behind  put  their  hands  over  his 
eyes. 

"  Guess  who  it  is,"  said  a  voice. 

"  Why,  it's  Lizzie,"  screamed  Ainslee,  de- 
lighted.    "  And  Jack  is  under  the  bed." 

"  No  he  isn't,"  said  Jack,  scrambling  out. 
"  Come  on ;  let's  go  to  the  concert." 

"  But  I  thought  you  was  in  New  York,"  said 
Ainslee.     "  When  did  yon  come  ?  " 

"  This  very  noon,  up  from  the  Falls,  in  the 
cars,"  said  Lizzie  ;  "  and  we  was  so  afraid  you'd 
be  home  from  school  before  we  got  here.  Jack 
ran  right  under  the  bed  first  thing,  and  aunty 
put  me  under  her  hoop,  'cause  she  said  you'd 
be  here  right  off.  Ain't  you  very  glad  w^e've 
come?  " 

"  I  guess  I  am,"  said  Ainslee.  "  Let's  go 
right  out  to  the  Avood-house." 


BARRELS   AND   BEANS.  237 

"Dinner  first,"  said  mainma,  "and  then  all 
the  play  you  want.     I  hear  the  bell  now." 

"  This  is  the  reason  you  didn't  want  me  to 
take  any  lunch  this  morning,  isn't  it,  mamma?  " 
"  You  knew  all  the  time  they  were  coming." 

"  I  guess  so,"  said  mamma,  as  they  went  into 
the  dining-room,  where  Ainslee  found  Uncle 
John  and  Aunt  Sue,  looking  just  as  they  had 
done  last  Thanksgiving. 

"  You're  going  to  stay  ever  and  ever  so  long, 
ain't  you  ?  "  said  Ainslee,  as  dinner  went  on. 

"  Not  this  time,"  Uncle  John  answered.  "  I 
must  go  home  early  to-morrow  morning,  but 
Aunt  Sue  can  do  as  she  pleases." 

"  Oh,  stay,  do ! "  said  Ainslee.  "  I  don't 
want  Lizzie  and  Jack  to  go  away." 

"  Suppose  I  leave  them,"  said  Aunt  Sue, 
laughing.  "  You  seem  quite  willing  to  do  with- 
out me,  and  perhaps  grandma  will  not  mind  two 
more  grandchildren  for  a  few  days." 

"  No  indeed,"  said  grandma.  "  They're  very 
good  children,  and  I'd  love  to  have  them  stay. 
You're  not  very  polite,  Ainslee.  I  thought 
you  loved  Aunt  Sue." 

"  So  I  do,  ever  so,"  said  Ainslee.  "  Only  I'd 
rather  have  her  go  home  than  Lizzie  or  Jack, 
'cause  I  can't  play  with  her,  and  there's  lots  o' 
things  I  want  to  do.    But  I  wish  you'd  all  stay." 


238  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

"  Where  is  Ainslee  ?  "  sounded  Sinny's  voice 
from  the  kitchen.  "  I'm  awful  tired  waiting  for 
him." 

"  Here  I  am,"  called  Ainslee,  giving  Aunt 
Sue  a  little  hug  as  he  ran  by  her.  "  Please  to 
'scuse  all  of  us,  grandma,  'cause  we'i'e  going  to 
have  a  concert.     Won't  Sinny  be  susprised  ?  " 

Sinny  smiled  from  ear  to  ear,  as  the  three  ran 
into  the  kitchen.  He  wore  a  paper  cap  with  a 
feather  in  it,  and  the  drum  Avas  hung  around  his 
neck  by  a  red  cord. 

"Oh,  that's  the  way  you  do,  is  it?"  said 
Jack.     "  You  got  a  cap,  Ainslee  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Ainslee.  "  I  don't  know  how  to 
make  'em." 

"  Well,  I  do,"  said  Jack.  "  You  get  me  some 
newspapers,  two  of  'em,  and  we'll  all  have  caps 
and  epaulets   too.     Bring  some  pins." 

Jack  spread  out  the  papers  which  Ainslee 
brought,  and  very  soon  had  three  caps  ready. 
Then  he  folded  some  pieces  of  paper  a  good 
many  times,  and  cut  the  ends  into  narrow  strips, 
which  he  crumpled  a  little  in  his  hand  as  he 
pulled  them  open,  and  then  pinned  to  his  and 
the  other  children's  shoulders. 

"  Now  we're  the  band  o'  the  New  York  Sev- 
enth   Regiment,"     said   he.     "  What'll    I   play 


i 


Now  we're  tijc  h.-iiul  n    Mic  Nrw  V  oik  Seventh  i;c;,'iiHeiit,"  said  he."  — 
Sou  iiiib'i"  '2;i>i- 


BARRELS  AND   BEANS.  239 

"  One  o'  these  whistles,"  said  Ainslee,  "  un- 
less grandpa'll  let  you  have  the  old  dinner- 
horn." 

"  He  won't,"  said  Jack,  after  a  moment's  dis- 
appearance in  tlie  dining-room.  "  He  says  the 
neighbors  would  all  be  in  if  I  blew  that,  but 
he  let  me  have  your  tin  trumpet  out  o'  his 
drawer." 

"Why  it's  been  gone  ever  so  long,"  said 
Ainslee,  surprised  to  see  it.  "  I'll  always  ask 
grandpa  now  if  I  lose  anything.  You've  got  a 
trumpet,  Jack,  an'  I've  got  a  whistle,  and  Sinny 
a  drum.     What'll  you  play  on,  Lizzie?" 

"  There's  beans  out  in  the  wood-house,  lots  of 
'em,"  said  Sinnv.  "  She  mijrht  shake  beans  in  a 
tin  pan,  and  ring  your  little  bell." 

"  So  I  will,"  said  Lizzie,  delighted,  and  the 
four  ran  out  to  the  wood-house,  from  whence 
there  came,  by  and  by,  such  a  racket,  that 
grandma  said  it  was  a  wonder  the  whole  town 
didn't  come  up  to  see  what  the  matter  was. 
After  a  while  they  formed  a  procession,  and 
marched  around  the  house,  still  playing,  till  the 
big  people  were  almost  distracted,  and  at  last, 
down  into  the  meadow,  where  little  Joe  CuUigan 
joined  them.  The  sun  set  too  soon  altogether, 
and  bed -time  never  had  seemed  such  a  little 
while  after  supper.     Mamma  left  the  doors  open 


240  THE  AINSLEE   STORIES. 

between  tlie  cliildren's  rooms,  and  tliey  talked 
back  and  forth,  till  nurse  said  the  baby  would 
wake  right  up,  unless  they  kept  stillei'. 

Very  soon  after  this,  sleep  came,  but  left  them 
long  before  the  grown  up  people's  eyes  thouohr 
of  opening.  Ainslee  heard  Jack  and  Lizzie  whis- 
pering for  some  time,  and  at  last,  not  able  to 
keep  away  one  minute  longer,  ran  in  to  them. 
The  whispering  grew  louder,  and  there  was  a 
giggle  now  and  then,  and  at  last  a  squeal,  and 
then  a  good  many  of  them  ;  and  when  mamma, 
an  hour  later,  looked  in  for  a  moment,  to  call 
Ainslee,  she  saw  tlie  sheets  and  quilts  made 
into  a  tent,  under  which  a  whirlwind  seemed 
to  be  goino;  on. 

"  You  are  a  noisy  set,"  said  she.  "  Do  you 
believe  grandma  Avill  keep  you  here  if  you  go  on 
like  this  ?  "  • 

"  She  can't  hear  us  much,  I  guess,"  said  Ains- 
lee.    "  Baby  makes  more  noise  than  anybody." 

"  Baby  !  "  said  mamma,  in  astonishment.  "  Is 
baby  here  ?     I  thought  nurse  had  him." 

"  No,"  said  Ainslee.  "  I  sort  of  touched  him 
when  I  was  getting  out  o'  bed,  and  he  stood  right 
up  in  his  crib  a-looking  at  me,  an'  you  was  sound 
asleep,  so  I  just  brought  him  here." 

Mamma  looked  under  the  sheet,  and  saw  baby 
tumbling  over  all  three  of  the  children,  and 
sqiiealing  with  delight. 


BARRELS  AND   BEANS.  241 

"  Come,  baby,"  she  said ;  but  baby  did  not 
want  to  leave  the  play,  and  Lizzie  had  to  lift 
him  off  the  bed,  and  run  with  him  into  mamma's 
room. 

"  Lizzie  and  Jack  can  go  to  school  with  me, 
can't  they  ? "  asked  Ainslee,  after  breakfast. 
"  It's  Wednesday  now,  and  school's  goin'  to  stop 
Friday,  for  ever  so  long.    Three  whole  wrecks." 

"  Yes,"  said  Aunt  Sue,  after  thinking  a  mo- 
ment. "  Perhaps  that  is  the  best  thing  to  do 
with  you,  but'  you  must  promise  not  to  whisper. 
Grandma  says  you  may  stay  here  as  long  as  I 
can  spare  you ;  a  whole  week,  perhaps.  Shall 
you  be  good  ?" 

"  To  be  sure  we  shall,"  Jack  answered. 
"  Ain't  we  always  good,  mother  ?  " 

"  Pretty  good,"  said  Aunt  Sue.  "  I  shall  leave 
3^ou  in  grandma's  care,  and  you  must  mind  all 
she  says.  We  shall  start  for  home  before  you 
get  back  from  school,  and  next  week  Tuesday,  if 
it  is  pleasant,  we  will  come  over  for  you." 

Lizzie  hugged  her  mother  as  if  she  were  hardly 
willing  to  let  her  go,  and  even  Jack  seemed  a 
little  doubtful  for  a  minute. 

"  Come,"  called  Ainslee.  "  I've  got  my  new 
cap  on,  and  I'm  all  ready  to  start.  Oh  my  !  why 
here's  my  barrel  right  in  the  bottom  of  all  the 
things." 

IS 


242  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

"  What  ? "  said  Lizzie,  running  up  to  the 
drawer  where  his  things  were  kept.  "  Why,  it's 
a  real  httle  barrel !  It  would  hold  a  quart  of 
water  :   where  did  it  come  from  ?  " 

"  Mamma  gave  it  to  me,  and  Uncle  Ainslee 
gave  it  to  her,"  said  Ainslee.  "  It  came  from 
way  off.  I'm  a  great  mind  to  take  it  to  school. 
I  don't  believe  Tommy  or  Amanda  ever  saw  it." 

"  Who's  Amanda  ?  "  asked  Lizzie. 

"  Oh,  she's  a  little  girl,"  Ainslee  answered. 
"  She's  most  smaller'n  you,  Lizzie,  but  she's 
real  nice.     Shall  we  take  our  dinners,  mamma  ?  " 

"  Not  to-day,"  said  mamma,  "  for  I  don't  think 
Lizzie  will  care  to  stay  longer  than  noon.  You 
can  play  half  an  hour  after  school,  if  you  like,  and 
Tommy  and  Amanda  may  come  here  to  tea,  if 
their  mother  is  willino;." 

"  O  you  lovely  mamma ! "  said  Ainslee. 
"  Won't  we  have  a  good  time  ?  Can  I  take  my 
barrel  to  school  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  it  will  make  you  play,"  said 
mamma,  who  was  in  a  great  hurry,  and  went 
away  at  once  with  Aunt  Sue. 

"  She  didn't  say  I  mustn't,"  said  Ainslee. 
"  I'll  leave  it  in  the  entry  till  recess  ;  it'll  hold 
a  lot  of  licorice  water." 

"  Lot  o^  what?  "  said  Lizzie. 

"  Why,  licorice  water,"  said  Ainslee.    "  Don't 


BARRELS   AND  BEANS.  243 

you  know  what  that  is  ?  All  the  boys  and  girls 
that  can,  take  bottles,  and  put  licorice  stick  in 
the  bottom,  and  fill  'em  with  water,  an'  then 
they  make  a  hole  in  the  cork  an'  suck  'era  every 
chance  they  get." 

"  Tisn't  good,  is  it  ?  "  said  Lizzie. 

"  Not  so  very  ;  only  pretty  good,"  said  Ains- 
lee. 

"  Don't  let's  make  it  at  school,"  said  Lizzie. 
"  I've  got  four  cunning  little  tumblers  in  the 
trunk,  for  my  baby-house,  and  this  afternoon 
we'll  make  a  lot,  and  play  it's  soda-water,  and 
sell  it." 

"  Let's  get  a  lot  o'  cookies  and  things  from 
grandma,  and  keep  a  restaurant,"  said  Jack. 

"  What's  that  ?  "  said  Ainslee. 

"  Why,  it's  a  store  where  they  sell  dinners," 
said  Jack.  "  Don't  you  remember  ?  There 's 
lots  of  'em  in  New  York." 

"  Well,"  Ainslee  said,  "  let's  hurry  now,  any- 
way ;  it's  most  school  time,"  and  the  three 
started  off. 

Sinny  stood  by  the  gate,  as  they  came  to  old 
Peter  Smith's ;  I  might  better  say,  danced  at  the 
gate,  for  he  certainly  was  not  standing  still. 

"  Gran'ther  wouldn't  let  me  take  it  down  this 
morning,"  said  he,  "  but  you  come  into  the  barn 
this  minute.     It's  all  hickory  an'  oak,  gran'ther 


24-1:  TIIK  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

said,  an'  its  iron-bound,  an'  all.  I  couldn't  break 
it  if  I  was  to  try." 

"Break  what?"  said  Jack.  "I  do  believe 
you're  crazy,  Sinny  Smith.  You  go  right  in 
and  ask  your  mother  to  put  you  to  bed.  Oh  ! 
ain't  that  a  splendid  wagon  ?  "  he  added,  as  they 
went  in  at  the  barn  door. 

Sure  enough,  Sinny's  wagon  had  come :  oak 
and  hickory,  as  he  had  said,  the  wheels  tii'ed  like 
those  of  a  big  wagon,  and  the  back  made  to  let 
down. 

"  I  can  haul  a  bushel  o'  potatoes  in  that,"  said 
Sinny.  "  An'  gran'ther's  goin'  to  pay  me  for 
helping  him  in  the  fall.  I'm  a-goin'  to  bring  it 
down  to  your  house  this  afternoon." 

"  Won't  that  be  fun  ?  "  said  Jack.  "  We're 
all  goin'  to  play  this  afternoon,  Sinny,  and  I 
know  what  we'll  do,'" 

"  Oh,  Avhat  ?  "  said  Ainslee.  "  My  !  there's  the 
bell :  we've  got  to  run." 

Oif  the  four  started,  and  got  there  just  in  time 
to  take  their  places  ;  Lizzie  by  Amanda,  and 
Jack  between  Sampson  and  Ainslee. 

"  She's  my  cousin  Lizzie,"  Ainslee  had  found 
time  to  whisper,  as  he  passed  Amanda,  and  Aman- 
da, after  a  few  minutes  of  looking  steadily  at  her, 
decided  she  was  quite  nice  enough  to  be  Ainslee's 
cousin,  and  gave  her  hand  a  little  squeeze.     Liz- 


BAKRELS  AND  BEANS.  245 

zie  had  been  holding  her  head  down,  just  a  little 
frightened,  and  half  wishing  she  had  stayed  at 
home ;  but  now,  as  she  looked  up  '  and  saw 
Amanda's  bright  eyes  looking  pleasantly  at  her, 
she  returned  the  squeeze,  and  thought,  after  all, 
that  she  was  glad  she  had  come. 

"  Do  you  want  to  come  to  school,  little  girl  ?  " 
said  Miss  Barrett,  when  she  had  finished  calling 
the  roll.  "  Because,  if  you  do,  you  must  wait  till 
the  first  of  June.  There  are  only  two  more  days 
before  vacation." 

"  I  know  it,  ma'am,"  said  Lizzie.  "  I'm  only 
company." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Miss  Barrett.  "  Well,  you  must 
n't  play." 

"  Come  and  read  with  me,"  said  Amanda,  and 
Lizzie  went  into  the  class,  and  read  and  spelled, 
just  as  if  she  belonged  there,  while  Jack  did  the 
same  with  the  little  boys.  Recess  came  very 
soon,  and  they  all  went  out  together. 

"  Ain't  Ainslee  Barton  proud  ?  "  said  Samp- 
son. "  He's  got  that  Johnny  Walton  along,  an' 
he's  so  stuck  up  to  think  he's  been  to  New  York, 
he  can't  look  at  anybody  else." 

"  'Mandy's  the  proudest,"  said  little  Sarah 
Jones.  "  You  couldn't  touch  her  with  a  ten- 
foot  pole." 

To  tell  the  truth,  Amanda  had  given  her  skirts 


246  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

a  little  flirt  as  she  walked  out  of  the  school-room 
with  her  arm  around  Lizzie's  waist,  and  a  good 
many  of  them,  when  she  heard  the  invitation  to 
take  tea  at  Grandpa  Walton's  that  afternoon. 

"  Put  on  your  hat  an'  let's  run  down  to  the 
spring,"  she  said.  "  Oh,  what's  that,  rolled  up 
in  your  sack  ?  " 

"  Why,  it's  Ainslee's  barrel,"  said  Lizzie,  and 
just  then  Ainslee  walked  out  with  Jack,  several 
of  the  children  followino;  close  behind. 

"  Oh,  ain't  that  pretty  ?  "  said  Tommy.  "  Will 
it  hold  anything?  " 

"  Good  as  can  be,"  said  Ainslee.  "  I'm  going 
to  fill  it  with  water  down  to  the  spring,  an'  then 
drink  out  of  it.     Come  on  ;  we'll  all  take  turns." 

"  Ainslee's  got  a  new  cap,"  said  Juliana  John- 
son, one  of  the  "big"  girls,  as  the  little  ones  called 
her,  for  she  was  almost  thirteen.  "  He  gets  more 
stuck  up  every  day,  and  so  do  Tommy  and  'Man- 
dy  Martin.  I'll  do  something  to  plague  him 
now,  you  see  if  I  don't." 

"What'll  you  do?"  said  Charley  Stearns, 
who  stood  near  her. 

"Never  you  mind,"  said  Juliana.  "I'll just 
get  him  good  an'  put  out.  I  guess  he  ain't  so 
much  better'n  anybody  else.  You  see  what  I'll 
do  now." 

Juliana  ran  down  to  the  spring,  where  half  a 


BARRELS  AND  BEANS.  247 

dozen  children  had  gathered  about  Ainslee,  who, 
with  his  barrel  full  of  water,  stood  there  pouring 
from  it  into  a  small  tin  cup,  which  he  passed  to 
each  one  in  turn. 

"  It  tastes  choky,"  said  Lizzie.  "  Why,  it's 
full  o'  dust,  Ainslee  !  The  barrel's  all  dirty  in- 
side, I  do  believe.     Let  me  take  it." 

Lizzie  took  it,  shook  it  hard,  and  then  poured 
out.  the  water,  which  came  away  quite  filled  with 
dust  and  lint. 

"  It's  been  in  the  blanket-closet  ever  so  long," 
said  Ainslee  ;  "  most  ever  since  mamma  was  a 
little  girl." 

"  Then  it  ought  to  be  dirty,"  said  Lizzie.  "  I'll 
shake  it  ao;ain,  and  then  it  will  be  all  clean. 
There  now  ;  you  fill  it  from  way  down  among 
the  stones,  'cause  I  shall  get  my  dress  wet  if  I 
do." 

Ainslee  stooped  down  with  his  barrel,  and  Ju- 
liana, who  had  been  standing  there  two  or  three 
minutes,  made  a  dash  at  the  Scotch  cap,  and  then 
holding  it  in  her  hand,  ran  up  the  hill  fast  as  she 
could  go. 

"  What's  that  for  ?  "  said  Ainslee,  getting  up. 
"  What  you  doing,  Lizzie  ?  Why,  it's  that  hate- 
ful Juliana  Johnson  !  Give  me  my  cap  this  min- 
ute." 

"  Get  it  when  you  can  !  "  sung  Juliana  from 


248  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

the  top  of  the  liill,  swinging  it  around  by  the  rib- 
bon at  the  back. 

"  You  take  the  barrel,  Jack,"  said  Ainslee, 
"  and  I'll  chase  her.     She'll  spoil  it." 

Ainslee  started  on  a  run,  but  the  school-bell 
rang  before  he  got  to  the  top  of  the  hill.  Juliana 
had  taken  her  place  at  her  desk,  and  held  the  cap 
so  that  he  could  just  see  it  as  he  went  in. 

"I'd  tell  Miss  Barrett,"  said  Ainslee  to  him- 
self, "  only  mamma  says  never  to  tell  tales. 
Maybe  she'll  give  it  back  at  noon,"  and  he 
turned  to  his  spelling  lesson.  Noon  came  very 
soon,  and  Ainslee,  who  had  lost  all  desire  to  stay 
and  play,  waited  in  the  entry  till  Juliana  came 
out  for  her  dinner-pail. 

"  Now  let  me  have  my  cap,  'cause  I  want  to 
go  home,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  you  do,  do  you  ?  "  said  Juliana.  "  Well, 
you  ain't  goin'  to  get  it  just  yet,  that's  all.  I'm 
goin'  to  pay  you  up  for  makin'  that  face  at  me 
last  week." 

"  You  give  it  to  me  this  minute,"  said  Ains- 
lee, growing  very  red.      "  Make  her.  Jack." 

"  It'll  take  more'n  Jack  to  make  me,"  said 
Juliana,  sittmg  down  by  her  desk,  and  opening 
her  dinner-pail.  "  I'm  goin'  to  eat  my  dinner. 
You  can  go  home  for  once  without  a  cap,  I 
guess." 


BARRELS  AND  BEAIvS.  249 

"  Come  out,"  said  Tommy.  "  I'll  tell  you 
what  to  do.  You  take  your  barrel  an'  fill  it  full 
o'  water,  an'  if  she  won't  give  your  cap  back,  you 
just  pour  it  all  down  her  back.'' 

"Well,"  said  Ainslee,  and  he  filled  the  barrel 
from  the  water-pail  wliicli.  stood  in  the  entry. 
"  Put  it  under  your  sack,  Lizzie,  so't  she  won't 
see,"  he  said,  "  and  maybe  she'll  give  it  back 
without  my  having  to  empty  anything  on  her." 

"  I'd  empt  it,  any  way,"  said  Sinny.  "  She's 
an  awful  ugly  girl  ;  she  used  to  plague  me." 

Ainslee  walked  into  the  school  -  room  again. 
"Now  Juliana  Johnson,"  he  said,  "will  you  give 
me  back  my  cap  ?  " 

"  No  I  won't,  so  now,"  said  Juliana,  turning 
her  back,  and  going  on  with  her  dinner. 

"  Then  I'll  pour  my  barrel  o'  water  all  down 
your  back,"  shouted  Ainslee,  seizing  the  barrel 
from  Lizzie  ;  and  before  Juliana  could  turn,  the 
water  was  streaming  over  her,  and  Ainslee  had 
dashed  into  the  entry  for  more.  Juliana  sat 
perfectly  still  a  moment,  too  astonished  to 
move,  and  then  sprang  toward  the  entry,  fu- 
rious with  passion.  Ainslee,  almost  as  angry  as 
she,  was  on  the  way  back  with  another  barrel- 
ful,  and  raised  his  hand  to  throw  it  as  she 
came  on. 

"  Oh,  you'll    throw  another,  will    you  ?  "  said 


250  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

Juliana.  "  Tliere  now  ! "  and  before  Ainslee 
thought  wliat  she  meant  to  do,  lier  sharp  teeth 
had  almost  met  in  his  hand. 

Ainslee  screamed,  and  held  out  the  hand  from 
which  the  blood  streamed,  and  Miss  Barrett,  who 
had  been  sitting  at  hgr  desk  reading,  and  paying 
no  attention  to  what  was  going  on  in  the  school- 
room, ran  into  the  entry,  alarmed  by  the  scream- 
ing which  Lizzie  and  Amanda  kept  up,  while 
Juliana,  frightened  at  what  she  had  done,  pulled 
her  hood  from  the  nail,  and  I'an  home  fast  as 
possible. 

"  Mercy  on  us ! "  said  Miss  Barrett,  as  she 
looked  at  Ainslee's  hand.  "  Here  ;  stick  it  right 
into  the  water-pail ;  that'll  make  it  stop  bleeding. 
Now,  one  of  you  tell  me  right  away  how  this 
happened." 

"  Juliana  Johnson  stole  his  cap  at  recess," 
said  Tommy,  after  a  minute's  hesitation, "  and  she 
wouldn't  let  him  have  it  this  noon.  He  asked 
her  ever  so  many  times,  an'  she  wouldn't,  an' 
then  I  told  him  to  pour  a  bai-rel  o'  water  down 
her  neck,  an'  he  did,  an'  then  she  got  mad  an'  bit 
him." 

"  A  barrel  of  water  ?  "  said  Miss  Barrett.  "  I 
should  think  you  were  all  crazy  together." 

"  That  barrel  down  there,"  said  Tommy,  point- 
ing to  the  little  barrel  which  lay  on  the  floor. 


BARRELS  AND  BEANS.  251 

"  Don't  you  ever  bring  such  a  thing  to  school 
again,"  said  Miss  Barrett,  jerking  Ainslee's  hand 
from  the  water,  and  wrapping  his  handiierchief 
tightly  around  it.  "  Now  run  home,  fast  as  you 
can.  You  won't  pour  any  more  water  down  peo- 
ple's backs,  I  guess." 

Tommy  brought  the  cap  from  Juliana's  desk, 
and  a  very  solemn  procession  started  from  the 
school-house  door,  Lizzie  holding  Ainslee's  well 
hand,  while  Amanda  and  she  cried  for  sympathy. 
Sinny  carried  the  barrel,  and  Jack,  Ainslee's 
books. 

"  Merciful  man  !  "  said  grandma,  sitting  at  her 
bedroom  window,  as  she  saw  Ainslee  come  cry- 
ing into  the  back-yard.     "  Look  there,  Clara  !  " 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  said  mamma,  anx- 
iously, meeting  them  at  the  door.  "  Are  you 
hurt,  Ainslee  ?  " 

"  I'm  bited  'most  to  death,"  said  Ainslee,  find- 
ino;  voice  for  the  first  time.  "Juliana  Johnson 
bited  a  hole  in  my  hand." 

"  Come  into  grandma's  room,"  said  mamma, 
"  and  you  can  tell  me  about  it  while  I  bind  it  up." 

The  bite  was  really  a  very  bad  one  ;  the  hand- 
kerchief had  stuck  to  it,  and  Ainslee  cried  again, 
while  mamma  washed  tl)e  blood  off,  and  then  put 
some  little  strips  of  sticking-plaster  over  it,  to 
keep  the  air  out. 


252  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

"  You  must  liave  it  in  a  sling  to-day,"  she  said, 
"  else  you  may  use  it  more  than  you  should,  and 
make  it  very  sore.  Now  tell  me  how  it  hap- 
pened ;  you  first.  Jack,  and  then  Ainslee." 

"  Juliana  was  very  naughty,"  said  mamma, 
when  both  stories  ended,  —  "  very  naughty  in- 
deed ;  but  was  nobody  else  naughty,  too?" 

"  I  was,  some,"  said  Ainslee.  "  But  she  had 
n't  any  business  to  bite  me." 

"  Perhaps  she  is  sorry  by  this  time,"  said 
mamma.  "  At  any  rate,  the  bite  may  make  you 
remember  that  some  trouble  always  comes  from 
getting  into  a  passion.  You  were  right  and 
Juliana  wrong,  till  you  threw  the  water  on  her  ; 
but  by  doing  that,  you  became  naughty  too.  You 
should  have  told  Miss  Barrett,  when  you  found 
Juliana  would  not  give  the  cap  back." 

"  But  I  thought  you  said  I  mustn't  ever  tell 
tales,"  said  Ainslee. 

"  If  Juliana  had  taken  the  cap  in  fun,  and 
meant  to  give  it  right  back,  it  would  have  been 
telling  tales,  if  you  had  spoken  to  Miss  Barrett," 
said  mamma.  "  But  from  both  your  story  and 
Jack's,  I  think  she  did  not  mean  to,  and  so  it 
would  have  been  only  just  that  Miss  Barrett 
should  be  asked  to  make  her  do  right.  Y'our  best 
rule  is,  never  to  tell  of  any  mere  mischief  which 
does  you  no  harm,  and  only  requires  a  little  pa- 


BARRELS  AND  BEANS.  253 

tience  to  bear.  If  it  turns  from  mischief  into 
spitefulness,  though,  and  you  find  tliat  neither 
fun  nor  gentleness  can  do  anything  for  you,  you 
are  right  in  going  to  some  higher  power,  thougli  it 
is  seldom  necessary.  You  see,  carrying  tlie  bar- 
rel to  school  was  a  bad  thing  to  do,  for  if  it  had 
been  left  at  home,  very  likely  Tommy  would 
never  have  thought  of  pouring  water  over  Juli- 
ana. The  pain  you  feel  now  is  a  hard  punish- 
ment for  any  mischief  you  have  done  with  it,  so 
this  time  I  shall  not  take  it  aw^ay,  but  you  must 
never  carry  it  to  school  again." 

"No  I  won't,"  said  Ainslee.  "  I  want  to  lie 
down,  mamma  ;  my  head  aches." 

All  that  afternoon  Ainslee  felt  very  forlorn. 
Before  night  his  hand  had  swollen  so  much,  that 
mamma  took  off  some  of  the  sticking-plaster,  and 
kept  it  wrapped  in  cold  water,  but  the  next  morn- 
ing it  felt  very  comfortable,  and  by  afternoon  he 
was  quite  well  enough  to  play  for  an  hovu*  or  two 
out-doors.  The  tea-party  was  put  off,  and  Tom- 
my and  Amanda  did  not  come  down  until  Satur- 
day afternoon,  when  the  hand,  though  still  tied  up, 
felt  almost  well.  Sinny  appeared  with  his  wagon, 
which  he  had  not  been  allowed  to  bring  down 
before,  and  the  party  settled  themselves  in  the 
wood-house  for  a  long  play,  provided  with  apples 
and  doughnuts,  a  plate  of  cookies,  and  the  two 


254  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

dozen  tin  liearts  and  rounds,  which  Ann  had 
been  coaxed  into  lending  them. 

"  Now,  I'll  tell  you,"  said  Jack.  "  Let's  play 
this  is  a  di^pot,  you  know,  an'  Sinny's  wagon 
the  cars.  Sinny  and  Tommy  can  take  turns  be- 
ing locomotives,  and  all  the  rest  can  be  passen- 
gers, and  stop  here  for  dinner.  There's  Charley 
Stearns  out  there.  Hallo,  Charley!  you  come 
and  play  too." 

"  Ma  said  I  might  stay  if  you  wanted  me  to," 
said  Charley,  coming  in.  "  I  heard  what  you 
said.  You  have  to  pay  at  a  d^pot.  You 
haven't  got  any  money,  have  you  ?  " 

"  Don't  want  money,"  said  Jack.  "  There's 
speckled  beans  over  there.     Pay  in  beans." 

So,  while  Ainslee  and  Amanda  shelled  some 
beans,  and  picked  up  the  loose  ones  from  the 
bottom  of  the  box.  Jack  and  Lizzie  set  a  fine 
table  on  the  bench,  which  had  been  dragged 
from  the  tool-house  for  that  purpose.  There 
was  a  birch-bark  pan  filled  with  cracked  butter- 
nuts, and  two  pieces  of  birch-bark  for  plates, 
with  apples  on  them.  Every  heart  and  round 
had  a  cooky  or  doughnut  in  it,  and  in  the  very 
middle  was  the  barrel,  full  of  licorice  water,  with 
the  four  httle  tumblers  in  front  of  it.  Then  the 
passengers  filled  their  pockets  wuth  beans,  and 
the  trains  began  to  run.     Sinny  started  from  the 


BARBELS   AND   BEANS.  255 

big  butternut-tree  by  the  gate,  and  came  tooting 
into  the  wood-house  with  Lizzie  as  his  first  pas- 
senger, and  then  back  again  for  Amanda. 

"  Three  minutes  for  dinner !  "  shouted  Jack. 
"  Hurry  up,  ma'am.     What'll  you  take  ?  " 

"  I'll  take  two  beans'  worth  o'  cooky,  an'  four 
beans'  worth  o'  licorice  water,  and  twenty  beans' 
worth  o'  butternuts,"  said  Amanda. 

"  You  mustn't  say  leans ;  you  must  say  shil- 
lings,'''' said  Jack.  "  Here  come  more  passen- 
gers. How  are  you,  Mr.  Stearns  ?  Glad  to  see 
you  this  way,  sir.  What  will  you  have  ?  Three 
minutes  for  dinner,  sir." 

"  Apple,"  said  Charley.  "  Look  a  here, 
though ;  they  don't  keep  eatin'  down  at  the 
d^pot  all  the  time  the  passengers  do.  You're 
eatin'  every  minute." 

"Well,  I'm  hungry,"  said  Jack.  "I'm  going 
to  stop  pretty  soon,  and  let  Ainslee  keep  the 
table  while  I  play  passenger." 

Ainslee  took  his  place  presently,  and  very  soon 
all  were  in  the  wood-house  but  Sinny,  who  stood 
looking  in. 

"  The  injine  wants  somethin'  to  eat,"  he  said. 
"  I  think  somebody  might  drag  me  in." 

"  Well,  I  will,"  said  Tommy.  "  Here  goes. 
Look  out  for  the  locomotive  when  the  bell 
rings !  "  and  Siiniy  who  had  run  back  to  the  tree, 


256  THE  AINSLEE   STORIES. 

and  seated  himself  in  his  wagon,  found  l)imself 
suddenly  on  a  pile  of  sawdust  in  the  wood-house. 
The  cookies  wei-e  going  too  fast,  to  leave  any 
time  foi'  talking  about  the  matter,  and  no  more 
trains  were  run,  till  the  table  was  thoroughly 
cleared. 

"  I  wish  we  hadn't  been  hungry,"  said  Ains- 
lee,  "  and  then  we  might  have  played  so  a  good 
while.  We  ought  to  have  some  more  things  to 
keep  a  table." 

"No,  we've  played  that  enough,  I  guess," 
said  Jack.  "  I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do.  Let's 
go  down  into  the  meadow  where  Culligan  is, 
and  we'll  get  him  to  let  us  plant  the  beans  the 
passengers  paid.  There's  grandpa  now.  Let's 
ask  him." 

"There  are  too  many  to  plant  them  all,"  said 
grandpa,  "  but  you  can  each  plant  five.  The 
place  where  Ainslee  had  his  garden  last  year,  I 
had  spaded  up  yesterday,  and  you  can  stick 
them  in  there." 

The  seven  children  flocked  into  the  garden, 
and  grandpa,  after  watching  them  a  few  min- 
utes, went  on  down  to  the  meadow. 

"What  will  we  do  when  they've  grown  up  to 
be  big  bean-vines  ?  "  said  Amanda.  "  There'll 
be  lots  o'  beans  on  'em." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Ainslee.  "  Divide  'em, 
maybe." 


BARRELS    AND   BEANS.  257 

"  That  wouldn't  be  any  fun,"  said  Jack.  "  I 
tell  you  :  plant  some  corn  too,  and  when  they're 
both  ripe  enough,  cook  'em  somehow,  and  we'll 
all  eat  'em  up." 

"■  I'll  see  what  mamma  says,"  said  Ainslee. 
"Let's  go  and  look  at  the  pigeons  now." 

When  the  afternoon  ended,  and  the  children 
went  in  to  tea,  hungry  as  if  there  had  been  no 
dinner  in  the  depot,  Ainslee  told  his  mother 
about  the  beans. 

"Jack's  idea  is  a  good  one,"  said  mamma. 
"  I  planted  some  corn  and  beans  once  when  I 
was  a  little  girl,  and  had  a  succotash  party  in 
the  summer-house  when  they  ripened.  Dolly 
cooked  it  for  me,  and  I  made  some  biscuit  my- 
self to  eat  with  it." 

"  I  wish  ours  was  going  to  be  ripe  right 
away,"  said  Ainslee.  "  You  have  to  wait  such 
a  while  for  everything." 

"  Perhaps  Lizzie  will  learn  how  to  make  bis- 
cuit by  that  time,"  said  mamma,  "and  if  she 
comes  over  tlien,  you  can  have  a  party  where 
everything  for  it  has  been  prepared  by  your- 
selves. 

Whether  the  corn  and  beans  grew,  and  the 
biscuit  were  made,  and  the  party  came  off  or 
not,  you  must,  to  find  out,  do  as  Ainslee  did,  — 
wait  awhile. 

17 


XVI. 

LAND  AND   SEA  FLOWERS. 

"  Where  do  you  think  your  cap  is,  Ainslee  ?  " 
said  mamma,  coming  in  from  the  garden. 

"  Here,"  said  Ainslee,  putting  his  hand  on  the 
Scotch  cap  which  lay  by  his  side  on  the  floor. 

"  Not  that  one,"  said  mamma ;  "  your  old 
winter  one  which  you  wore  last  week." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Ainslee.  "  Isn't  it  up- 
stairs?" 

"  Think  a  minute,"  said  mamma.  "  Can't 
you  remember?  Go  out  to  the  Canada  plum- 
tree,  and  you  will  see.     I  will  go  too." 

"  That's  nice,"  said  Ainslee,  jumping  up  de- 
lio;hted.  "  You  don't  ever  take  a  walk  with  me 
hardl}',  mamma.  Will  you  go  'way  down  with 
me  into  the  meadow  ?  " 

"  Pei'haps,"  said  mamma,  as  they  walked  out 
toward  the  plum-tree,  which  stood  at  the  very 
back  of  the  garden,  overlooking  the  meadow  and 
the  mill-brook  which  wound  through  it.  As 
they  drew  near  the  tree,  a  little  bird  flew  out, 
and  wheeled  about  their  heads  so  closely,  that  it 
almost  touched  them. 


LAND  AND  SEA  FLOWERS.  259 

"  That's  a  wren,"  said  Ainslee.  "  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  he's  building  a  nest,  mamma,  he's  so 
saucy ;  they're  the  sauciest  birds  that  ever  were, 
when  they're  building  nests,  papa  says." 

"  I  shouldn't,  either,"  said  mamma.  "  Look 
in  the  crotch  of  the  tree,  and  see  what  you  will 
see." 

"  Why,  mamma !  "  screamed  Ainslee,  after  a 
moment's  examination.  "  It's  my  old  cap,  all 
full  o'  sticks  an'  straw,  and  the  other  wren's  in 
it,  fixing  'em." 

Mrs.  Wren  flew  out  as  he  spoke,  and  seemed 
very  much  inclined  to  peck  him,  as  he  stood  on 
tiptoe,  to  look  into  the  cap,  which  was  lodged  se- 
curely in  the  fork  of  the  tree,  and  screened  by 
leaves  so  completely,  that  one  who  did  not  know, 
would  hardly  notice  its  being  there. 

"  What'll  I  do,  mamma?  "  said  Ainslee,  draw- 
ing back  a  step  or  two,  as  Mrs.  Wren  came 
nearer.  "  It  would  be  too  bad  to  spoil  all  the 
nest,  wouldn't  it  ?  I  don't  believe  the  wren  will 
let  me  take  the  cap  away,  anyhow." 

"You  need  not  try  her,"  said  mamma.  "The 
cap  shall  stay  there  ;  only  —  who  left  it  there  in 
the  first  place  ?  " 

"  I  guess  it  was  me,"  Ainslee  said,  turning  a 
little  red,  "  when  I  was  playing  '  I  spy '  with 
Tommy  and  Sinny.     My  head  got  all  hot,  and 


260  THK  AIXSLEE  STORIES. 

I  took  my  cap  off  and  put  it  in  there,  when  I 
was  behind  the  tree.  Why  can't  I  have  my 
hair  cut  off  short,  mamma,  close  to  my  head,  the 
Avay  Tommy  had  his  last  summer?  I've  got  lots 
more'n  I  want." 

"  You  may,  when  hot  weather  is  really  here," 
said  mamma.  "  Now,  let  us  go  away  from  here, 
else  the  wren  may  stop  building.  I  hope  pussy 
will  not  find  their  new  house." 

"I  guess  she  won't,"  said  Ainslee,  as  they 
walked  on  toward  the  meadow.  "  I'll  bring 
crumbs  every  day,  and  maybe  they'll  get  to 
know  me  real  well.  There's  a  sparrow  down  at 
the  foot  o'  the  sweet-apple-tree,  right  in  among 
the  suckers,  an'  there's  four  little  eggs  in  the 
nest.  Pussy  will  get  Aer,  any  w'ay.  Stop  and 
look  at  my  garden,  mamma.  I'm  going  to  have 
lots  o'  things." 

"  Lots  o'  things  "  had  certainly  started.  The 
beans,  planted  two  or  three  weeks  before,  were 
growing  nicely ;  and  Lizzie,  before  going  home, 
had  put  in  a  row  of  peas  near  them,  the  delicate 
green  leaves  of  which  were  just  peej:)ing  through 
the  crrouud.  The  largest  bed  showed  onlv  some 
carrots  and  two  onions,  which  were  sending  out 
long  sprouts. 

"  There's  corn  and  potatoes  in  there,  where  you 
don't  see  anything  but  the  carrots,"  said  Ainslee ; 


LAND  AND  SEA  FLOWERS.  261 

"  lots  of  'ein,  and  grandpa's  goin'  to  pay  me  for 
all  the  seed  on  those  onions.  I  planted  all  my 
date  seeds  down  there,  an'  some  lemon  seeds  too. 
Maybe  I'll  have  lemonade,  Fourth  o'  July." 

"  Very  likely  you  will,"  said  mamma,  smiling, 
"  but,  I  am  afraid,  not  from  your  own  trees. 
Hark  !  what  is  that  noise  from  the  house  ?  " 

"  It  sounds  like  Ponto,"  said  Ainslee  ;  "  only 
grandpa  gave  Ponto  away.  Baby  's  crying,  too. 
Let's  go  riglit  in  and  see  what  it  is." 

Mamma  Imrried  in,  and  found  Mr.  Parker  in 
the  parlor  with  grandma,  who  was  holding  baby  in 
her  lap,  while  a  small  brown  spaniel  frisked  about 
the  room,  and,  as  Ainslee  came  in,  jumped  up  on 
him,  and  licked  his  face  ;  and  then,  catching  hold 
of  his  trousers,  began  biting,  and  growling,  and 
shaking,  so  that  Ainslee  could  not  stand  still  one 
minute. 

"  What  a  dog  !  "  said  Ainslee,  sitting  down  on 
the  floor.     "  Is  he  yours,  Mr.  Parker  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Mr.  Parker,  "  but  I 
rather  think  he  belongs  to  somebody  else.  The 
truth  is,"  he  added,  turning  to  Ainslee's  mother, 
"  two  of  them  are  more  then  I  can  manage,  and 
I  thought  that  as  Ponto  had  gone,  you  might  like 
to  fill  his  place.  Rover  can  easily  be  trained  to 
better  manners,  and  he  is  so  affectionate  that 
Ainslee  will  like  to  be  his  owner." 


262  THE  AIXSLEE  STORIES. 

"  Me  ! ''  said  Ainslee,  almost  falling  backwards 
in  astonishment.     "  A  whole  dog,  all  for  me ! " 

"  Half  for  you  and  half  for  baby,  if  you  like 
that  better,"  said  Mr.  Parker,  laughing.  "  Though 
after  treating  baby  so  when  he  first  came  in,  I'm 
afraid  he  will  not  be  in  favor  for  a  long  time." 

"  What  did  he  do  ?  "  asked  Ainslee,  stroking 
Rover,  who  had  cuddled  down  at  his  feet. 

"  Baby  Avas  sitting  on  the  floor,"  said  Mr.  Par- 
ker, "  playing  with  grandma's  button-box,  and 
Rover  thought,  I  suppose,  that  he  was  there  ex- 
pressly to  be  played  with,  and  licked  and  nosed 
him  so  hard,  that  poor  Bertie  fell  over  sideways, 
and  the  more  he  cried  the  more  Rover  pulled  him 
about,  till  grandma  came  to  the  rescue.  You 
must  teach  him  to  be  gentler,  if  you  can,  pro- 
vided mamma  lets  you  keep  him." 

"  What  do  you  think,  grandma  ?  "  said  mamma. 

"  He'll  plague  our  lives  out,"  said  grandma, 
"  and  the  old  cat  won't  have  a  minute's  peace 
when  he's  in  the  house ;  but  I  suppose  we'll 
have  to  keep  him." 

Ainslee,  who  had  been  looking  anxiously  at 
her,  began  a  dance  about  the  room,  followed  by 
Rover,  but  stopped  as  Mr.  Parker  said,  — 

"  I  came  to  call  on  you  to-day,  Ainslee,  and 
Rover  is  only  part  of  what  I  have  to  talk  about. 
What  do  you  say  to  coming  down  and  taking  tea 


LAND  AND   SEA  FLOWERS.  263 

with  me  this  afternoon,  and  looking  at  something 
new  I  have  at  home  ?  " 

"  Oh  how  nice !  "  said  Ainslee,  with  shining 
eyes,  and  looking  at  mamma.  "  I  may,  mayn't  I, 
mamma  ?  *' 

"  Yes,"  said  mamma.  "  That  is,  if  you  are 
not  too  much  trouble  to  Mr.  Parker." 

"  I  don't  trouble  you,  do  I  ?  "  said  Ainslee. 
getting  very  close  to  him.  "  Shall  I  come  I'eal 
early  ?  " 

"By  four  o'clock,''  said  Mr.  Parker;  "and  I 
will  walk  home  with  you  after  tea." 

Ainslee  whisked  into  the  kitchen  to  tell  Sinny, 
whose  voice  he  heard  there ;  and  Mr.  Parker, 
after  talking  a  few  moments  longer,  took  his 
leave.  Ann  stood  by  the  kitchen  fire,  stirring 
something,  and  pussy,  who  had  led  a  very  quiet 
life  since  Ponto's  departure,  lay  curled  up  under 
the  stove,  dreaming  dreams  of  Mouseland.  Rover 
rushed  at  her  the  moment  he  saw  her,  and  pussy, 
slowly  opening  her  eyes,  spit,  and  raised  her  back 
as  she  saw  who  had  broken  up  her  nap,  and  at 
least  boxed  Rover's  nose  so  sharply,  as  it  came  too 
near,  that  he  drew  back,  and  contented  himself 
with  barking  loudly.  Pussy  retired  backwards 
till  she  reached  the  sink,  and  then  springing  to  it, 
seated  herself  behind  the  water-pail,  and  looked 
at  him  over  the  top. 


2G4  TIIK   AIXSLEE   STORIES. 

"She'll  hold  her  own,"  said  Ann.  "But  I'd 
like  to  know  what  doer  that  is,  rampaging  into  the 
kitchen  like  tliat  ?  You  needn't  think  I'll  have 
a  dog  round  under  my  feet  every  minute." 

"  He  won't  be  under  your  feet,"  said  Ainslee. 
"  He'll  be  out-doors  'most  all  the  time,  'cept 
when  he  has  some  dinner.  You're  eoing  to  be 
real  good  to  him,  Ann,  I  know." 

"  Well,  he  is  sort  of  pretty,"  said  Ann,  who 
really  liked  dogs  a  good  deal  better  than  cats, 
and  was,  on  the  whole,  glad  to  see  Rover.  "  If 
he  wasn't,  I'd  just  say  pat,  he  shouldn't  ever 
come  into  this  kitchen.  You've  got  to  keep  him 
out  when  it's  wet,  any  way,  Ainslee." 

"Well,  I  will,"  said  vVinslee,  sitting  down  on 
the  door-step  to  tell  Sinny  all  about  it,  while 
Rover  ran  over  to  the  wood-house,  and  down  the 
cellar-way,  smelling  everywhere,  as  if  to  make 
up  his  mind  about  his  new  quarters. 

"  Stephen  Jones  is  'most  the  only  boy  that's 
got  a  dog,"  said  Sinny,  "  unless  it  is  Samp,  an' 
Samp's  only  a  yaller  dog,  that  don't  know  nothin'. 
Won't  Tommy  be  tickled  when  he  sees  Rover  ?  " 

"  I  guess  he  will,"  said  Ainslee.  "  There's 
your  wagon,  ain't  it,  Sinny  ?  I  wonder  if  mamma 
would  let  us  take  baby  in  it." 

"  We  never  did,  did  v/e  ?  "  said  Sinny.  "  Let's 
ask  her  right  away." 


LAND   AND   SEA   FLOWERS.  265 

Mamma  hesitated  a  little  when  she  heard  the 
request,  but  Ainslee  promised  to  be  ten  times  as 
careful  as  nurse  was,  when  she  took  him  in  his 
own  wagon  ;  so,  finally,  a  cushion  was  put  in  the 
bottom,  and  little  Herbert  seated  on  it,  so  de- 
lighted that  he  could  hardly  sit  still. 

"  Bertie  must  hold  on  all  the  time,"  said 
mamma,  kissing  his  red  lips,  and  the  children 
started  off  around  the  garden.  Rover  runnino; 
before  them. 

"  I  wish  we  had  reins,"  said  Ainslee,  "  and  then 
baby  could  drive  us.  I'm  going  to  ask  mamma 
to  make  some  ;  two  pair,  maybe,  an'  then  when 
Tommy  comes  down,  we  could  have  a  double 
team,  and  two  could  ride  to  time  in  the  wagon. 
It's  plenty  big  if  you  let  your  legs  hang  out. 
My  father's  coming  home.  Did  you  know  it, 
Sinny?" 

"  No,"  said  Sinny.     "  When  ?  " 

"  Not  for  a  good  while,"  said  Ainslee.  "  But 
he  said  in  mamma's  letter,  he'd  be  here  before  the 
Fourth  o'  July." 

"  Then  you'll  have  fire-works,  won't  you  ?  " 
said   Sinny.     "  Let's  run  with  baby." 

The  garden  walks  were  hard  and  smooth  ;  the 
little  wagon  rolled  easily,  and  baby  squealed  with 
delight  as  the  children  ran  around  the  different 
beds.     Breath  went  at  last,  and  they  sat  down, 


266  THE  AIXSLEE  STORIES. 

panting,  on  the  bank,  in  the  cool  grass,  to  rest  for 
a  few  minutes. 

"There's  Stars  o'  Bethlehem  over  there,  —  lots 
of  'em,"  said  Ainslee,  })resently.  "  And  there's 
some  blood-root  too.  Let's  pick  a  lot,  and  I'll 
])ut  some  o'  my  carrot  leaves  with  'em.  Mamma 
says  carrot  leaves  is  'most  the  prettiest  things 
there  is  to  put  with  flowers." 

Baby  looked  on  while  they  picked ;  and  when, 
after  a  time,  mamma  came  out,  he  was  playing 
with  grass  and  leaves  which  Sinny  piled  into 
the  wagon,  while  Ainslee  had  two  little  bouquets 
of  the  delicate  white  flowers  and  feathery  green 
carrot  leaves. 

"  My  hands  are  all  over  blood-root  juice,"  he 
said.  "  See  mamma,  one's  for  you,  and  can't  I 
take  one  to  Mr,  Parker?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  mamma.  "  It  is  time  now  to  get 
ready:  almost  half-past  three.  Sinny  can  go  part 
way  with  you,  if  his  mother  is  willing." 

"  She  wants  me  to  get  some  'lasses,"  said  Sin- 
ny, "  so  I  can  go  'most  all  the  way.  Can't  I 
play  with  baby  till  he's  ready  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  mamma  ;  "  that  will  be  very  soon, 
and  baby  is  having  such  a  nice  time,  that  he  may 
stay  till  I  call  you.  But  bring  him  in,  if  he  cries." 

Sinny  felt  full  six  feet  tall,  as  Mrs.  Barton 
walked  away  with  Ainslee,  for  he  had  never  be- 


LAND   AND   SEA  FLOWERS.  267 

fore  been  trusted  with  anybody's  baby.  Bertie 
looked  a  little  doubtful,  and  called  "  mamma " 
once,  but  Sinny  began  to  draw  him  about  the 
garden  very  fast  indeed,  till  he  laughed,  and 
squealed,  and  cried  loudly  for  "  More,  more 
lide  !  "  when  mamma  called,  and  he  was  taken 
into  the  house. 

"I  guess  you've  got  some  good  grease  on  your 
head,"  said  Sinny,  as  they  walked  along.  "  You 
smell  first-rate." 

"  No  I  haven't,"  said  Ainslee.  "  It's  cologne 
on  my  hands ;  or  else,  maybe,  this  rose  grandma 
gived  me.  Mamma  says  it  isn't  nice  to  put 
grease  on  your  hair,  'cause  it  dirties  your  caps, 
and  the  pillow,  and  everything.  Did  you  know 
there  was  something  just  like  oil,  down  at  the 
bottom  of  every  single  hair,  Sinny  ?  and  mamma 
says,  if  you  brush  your  hair  lots,  it  comes  out 
and  makes  it  shine  ever  so  much  nicer'n  if  you 
put  grease  on  it." 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  said  Sinny.  "  There 
ain't  none  down  to  the  bottom  o'  mine,  anyway." 

"No,  I  don't  s'pose  tliere  is,"  said  Ainslee; 
"  'cause,  you  see,  yours  isn't  just  like  hair,  you 
know.  There's  the  very  goose  that  runned  after 
us,  I  do  believe,  oiF  on  the  pond.  All  the  little 
gooses  growed  up,  I  guess ;  there's  lots  of  'em 
Avith  him.  Why,  here  comes  Rover,  an'  I  shut 
him  up  tight.     Go  home.  Rover !  " 


208  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

Coax  or  scold  as  lie  -would,  Rover  woidd  not 
go  home,  but  capered  about ;  and  when  at  last 
Ainslee  threw  a  stick  at  him,  he  brought  it  back 
and  laid  it  at  his  feet. 

"Why,  ain't  that  nice?"  said  Ainslee.  "I 
didn't  know  he'd  do  that.  Mr.  Parker  won't 
scold,  I  guess,  if  he  does  come.  Anyway,  I  can't 
make  him  go  home.     Let's  hurry." 

Sinny  said  good-by  at  the  store  door,  and  Ains- 
lee walked  on,  down  the  beautiful  village  street, 
under  the  great  elms  and  maples,  till  he  came  to 
the  cottage  where  Mr.  Parker  lived.  Until  this 
spring,  his  sister  had  been  Avith  him  ;  but  now 
she  was  away,  and  Randy  Ripley,  a  tall  woman, 
who  had  been  in  their  family  almost  ever  since 
Mr,  Parker  was  a  baby,  took  care  of  him  and  of 
the  house.  Randilla  Aguba  Ripley  was  her  real 
name,  so  she  had  one  day  told  Ainslee,  but  it 
would  have  taken  a  good  deal  of  time  to  call 
her  that  always,  and  so  it  had  been  shortened 
into  Randy. 

Ainslee,  who  had  been  here  a  good  many 
times,  although  I  have  not  told  you  about  it,  I'an 
in  at  the  open  door,  and  to  Mr.  Parker's  study, 
just  back  of  the  parlor,  and  only  separated  from 
it  by  some  heavy  curtains  falling  from  the  arch 
between  the  two  rooms.  They  were  looped  back 
now,  as  they  always  were  when  Mr.  Parker  was 


LAND  AND   SEA  FLOWERS.  269 

not  studying  or  writing ;  but  he  was  not  there, 
though  an  open  book  lav  on  the  table,  and  the 
study  chair  was  pushed  back,  as  if  some  one  had 
just  got  up  from  it.  Ainslee  looked  across  to  the 
bow-window  which  Miss  Agnes  Parker  had  al- 
ways kept  filled  with  flowers,  and  screamed  with 
pleasure  as  he  did  so.  What  do  you  think  he 
saw?  The  globe  of  gold-fish  which  had  always 
stood  on  tlie  little  round  table  in  the  window  ? 
No  indeed  ;  but  a  beautiful  aquarium,  with  glass 
sides  and  marble  bottom,  filled  with  waving 
water-plants,  through  which  the  fish  darted  ;  and 
on  one  stone  in  the  corner  of  it,  something  which 
looked  like  a  lovely  pink  flower,  with  long  leaves 
swaying  back  and  forth. 

"  Oh,  oh,  oh  !  "  screamed  Ainslee,  and  Randy 
looked  in  at  the  study  door,  to  see  who  was 
making  such  a  noise. 

"  Oh,  it's  you,  is  it  ?  "  said  she,  smiling,  for 
Ainslee  was  one  of  the  few  children  she  liked. 
"That  is  pretty,  isn't  it?  Mr.  Parker's  just 
gone  to  the  ofiice,  and  he'll  be  back  in  a  few 
minutes.  You  come  out  an'  see  me,  or  you  can 
look  at  that,  just  as  you're  a  mind  to." 

"I'll  look  at  this,"  said  Ainslee.  "It's  the 
beautifullest  thing  I  ever  did  see.  Is  that  a  real 
flower  in  there,  Randy  ?  " 

"  I  guess  it  is,"  said  Randy,  "  but  I  don't  just 


270  THE  AINSLEE  STOUIES. 

rightly  know  ;  you  ask  Mr.  Parker,  an'  he'll  tell 
you  all  about  it ; "  and  Randy  shut  the  door,  and 
went  back  to  her  work.  Ainslee  heard  the  gate 
shut,  and  ran  out  to  meet  the  minister,  who 
came  quickly  in  with  some  letters  and  papers 
in  his  hand. 

"So  you  have  come,"  he  said,  smiling  at 
Ainslee.  "  What  do  you  think  of  -vvljat  you 
find  here  ?  " 

"  I'm  'most  crazy,"  said  Ainslee,  "  'cause 
everything's  so  pretty.  Why,  there  are  the 
flowers  I  brought  you,  on  the  floor  I  I  picked 
all  the  white  ones,  Mr.  Parker,  and  grandma 
gived  me  that  pink  rose  and  bud,  to  put  right  in 
the  middle." 

"  They  are  beautiful,"  said  Mr.  Parker,  "  and 
I  shall  put  them  on  the  study  table,  where  I  can 
see  them  all  the  time." 

Ainslee  watched  him  as  he  poured  some  water 
into  a  vase,  and  put  the  delicate  flowers  in  it, 
and  then  pulled  him  to  the  window. 

"  Now  tell  me  all  about  the  fish,"  he  said,  "  and 
that  flower  down  there.     Is  it  truly  a  flower  ?  " 

"Yes  and  no,"  said  Mr.  Parker.  "It  is  a 
flower  in  shape  and  color,  and  name  too,  for  it 
is  called  a  Sea-anemone,  and  it  never  stirs  from 
the  stone  any  more  than  a  flower  would ;  yet  it 
is  alive,  and  if  you  could  look  at  it  through  my 


LAND  AND  SEA   FLOWERS.  271 

large  microscope,  you  would  see  that  it  has  a 
mouth  which  opens  and  shuts,  as  if  it  were  eat- 
ing. They  are  of  many  colors  ;  purple,  and  pale 
yellow,  and  pink  like  this,  and  sometimes  pure 
white.  Don't  you  think  the  sea  has  a  beautiful 
flower-garden  of  its  own  ?  " 

"  I  shoukl  think  it  had,"  said  Ainslee.  '•  Oh, 
look  a  there  !  There's  a  httle  thing  with  a  head 
just  like  a  horse.  Why,  I  never  saw  such  things. 
Where  did  they  come  from  ?  " 

"A  friend  sent  them  to  me  from  Boston," 
said  Mr.  Parker,  "  and  took  very  great  pains  to 
have  them  get  here  in  good  order.  The  plants 
will  keep  the  water  in  the  aquarium  fresh  and 
good  for  a  long  time,  he  said,  and  he  sent,  at  the 
same  time,  a  barrel  of  sea-water,  from  which  to 
fill  this  up.  The  fish  will  do  very  well ;  but 
whether  my  beautiful  flower,  and  the  little  sea- 
horse will  live,  I  do  not  know.  There's  a  little 
crab  in  there  under  the  stones,  and  those  two 
little  fish  close  by  are  sticklebacks ;  they  build  a 
nest  for  themselves,  and  the  baby  sticklebacks 
live  in  it.  Now  I  am  going  to  read  my  letters, 
and  by  and  by  I  will  tell  you  some  more  about 
the  fish." 

Mr.  Parker  sat  down  at  his  table,  and  Ainslee 
watched  for  a  long  time,  hoping  that  the  crab 
would  come  out ;  but  he  did  not  till  the  letters 


272  THE  AINSLEE   STORIES. 

were  finished,  and  Mr.  Parker  poked  him  out 
with  a  httle  stick.  Then  they  talked  for  a  lonij; 
time  about  the  fisli,  until  Randy  ui)ened  the  door 
and  said  tea  was  ready,  and  they  went  out  to 
find  a  small  round  table  set  for  two.  Rover 
was  in  the  dining-room  when  they  went  in,  and 
sat  by  Mr.  Parker's  chair,  just  as  if  he  had  a 
perfect  right  to  be  there. 

"  So  you've  come  home  again,  old  fellow," 
said  Mr.  Parker,  patting  him.  "  Did  you  invite 
liini  to  come  with  you,  Ainslee  ?  " 

"I  shutted  him  up  tight  as  I  could,"  said 
Ainslee.  "  But  he  would  get  out,  an'  he  came 
after  me  when  I  was  'most  here,  and  wouldn't 
go  home." 

"  He  wanted  to  see  Frisk,  perhaps,"  said  Mr. 
Parker,  sitting  down  at  the  tea-table.  "  Frisk  is 
in  disgrace  because  he  scratched  up  my  flower 
seeds,  and  I  have  tied  him  up  in  the  wood-shed. 
We'll  call  on  him  after  tea." 

Mr.  Parker  poured  tea,  and  Ainslee  had  some 
in  his  cup  of  milk,  and  ate  biscuit  and  butter, 
and  custard,  and  little  cup-cakes,  till  he  could 
eat  no  more. 

Then  they  went  into  the  garden  together,  to 
see  all  the  green  things  growing ;  and  after  they 
had  walked  about  a  httle  while,  Mr.  Parker  said 
he  had  not  told  Ainslee  his  story  yet,  and  they 


LAND  AND   SEA  FLOWERS.  273 

went  back  to  the  study,  stopping  a  moment  on 
the  way  to  see  Frisk,  who  whined  and  stood  up 
on  his  hind-Ieo-s,  beffffino;  to  be  untied. 

"  Rover  may  stay  with  you  awhile,"  said  Mr. 
Parker,  "  and  tell  you  what  he  has  been  doing 
to-day." 

"I  guess  he  will,"  said  Ainslee.  "Just  see 
'em  put  their  noses  together.  They  are  talking, 
aren't  they  ?  " 

"  Very  likely,  after  their  own  fashion,"  said 
Mr.  Parker.     "  Now  for  the  story,  Ainslee." 

Beautiful  stories  Mr.  Parker  told ;  sometimes 
his  own,  sometimes  other  people's,  and  he  began 
to-night  a  A-ery  long  one  he  had  read  in  a  book, 
called  "  The  Snow  Queen,"  and  Ainslee  listened 
to  the  ver}^  end,  where  Gerda,  after  long  wander- 
ings, finds  little  Kay  in  the  Snow  Queen's  palace, 
and  brings  him  home  again.  Some  of  you  little 
people  who  read  "  Riverside,"  perhaps  have  that 
book  of  Hans  Andersen's,  where  you  can  find 
this  story,  and  hosts  of  other  beautiful  ones,  for 
he  loves  all  children,  and  writes  for  them  won- 
derful tales  you  would  all  like  to  read,  and  many 
of  which,  by  this  time,  Ainslee  knew  very  Avell. 

"  She  loved  him  ever  so,  didn't  she  ? "  said 
Ainslee,  after  a  little  silence,  "  to  go  'way  oft'  in 
the  snow  and  everything,  to  find  him,  after  he 
had  gone  away.    She  was  little  when  she  started, 


274  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

an'  she  was  all  growcd  up  when  she  found  him. 
It's  a  be-yutiful  story." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Parker,  as  if  thinking  of 
somethino;  else,  and  taking  a  letter  from  his 
pocket.  "  Who  is  this,  Ainslee  ?  "  he  added  after 
a  moment,  putting  a  photograph  into  his  hand. 

"  It's  my  Cousin  Grace,"  said  Ainslee,  quick- 
ly, — "  my  Cousin  Grace  that  was  up  here  last 
summer.  Do  you  know  her,  Mr.  Parker?  That's 
mamma's  picture,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"Xo,  it  isn't  mamma's  picture,"  said  Mr.  Par- 
ker, "  and  I  do  know  her  very  well ;  so  well, 
that  she  has  promised  to  come  here  in  the  au- 
tumn and  live  with  me  always." 

"  And  never  go  away  ?  "  said  Ainslee.  "  Won't 
she  get  tired  o'  being  with  you  all  the  whole 
time  ?  " 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  Mr.  Parker,  laughing  a 
little ;  "  though  she  might,  perhaps,  if  I  did  not 
love  her  veiy  much  indeed,  and  want  her  to  be 
happy  ^11  the  time.  She  will  be  Cousin  Grace 
Parker,  by  and  by,  instead  of  Cousin  Grace  Ali- 
son, and  you  will  be  my  little  cousin  then." 

"  Is  she  going  to  marry  you,  just  as  mamma 
did  papa  ?  "  asked  Ainslee.  "  Mamma  telled  me 
about  it  one  day,  an'  she  said  when  I  was  a  big 
man,  I  should  love  somebody  too,  most  of  all, 
and  be  married,  maybe.  Mam.ma  says  love  is 
the  best  thinor  Jn  the  whole  world." 


LAND  AND   SEA  FLOWERS.  275 

"  Mamma  is  right,"  said  Mr.  Parker,  drawing 
Ainslee  to  him.  "  You  are  a  little  fellow  now, 
Ainslee,  but  quite  old  enough  to  know  that. 
God's  name  is  Love,  and  loving  is  the  best  and 
sweetest  thing  He  ever  gives  us  to  do.  Never 
be  ashamed  of  it  all  your  life  long,  for  the  more 
you  love  here,  the  more  you  will  have  to  be  glad 
of  when  you  go  home  to  heaven." 

"  I  love  you,"  said  Ainslee,  putting  his  head 
on  Mr.  Parker's  shoulder,  "  and  I'm  glad  you're 
going  to  be  my  cousin." 

"  So  am  I,  ever  so  glad,"  said  Mr.  Parker. 
"  But  the  sun  has  gone  down,  and  mamma  will 
wonder  why  we  do  not  come.  Say  good-by  to 
Randy,  and  call  Rover,  and  we  will  start." 

"  Come  an'  see  me  some  day,"  said  Randy,  as 
he  went  into  the  kitchen,  "  some  time  when  Mr. 
Parker's  too  busy  to  have  you,  an'  maybe  I'll 
tell  you  somethin'  about  when  I  was  a  little  gal." 

"  That'll  be  nice,"  said  Ainslee.  "  I'll  come 
pretty  soon.  Randy  ;  maybe  to-morrow." 

"  Well,"  said  Randy,  opening  the  door  to  let 
Rover  in,  and  Ainslee  went  out  to  Mr.  Parker, 
who  stood  by  the  gate,  waiting.  The  sun  had 
set,  but  a  red  glow  filled  the  air,  and  rested  on 
the  quiet  river.  One  or  two  birds  twittered 
from  the  tall  trees  as  they  passed  under  them, 
but  the  evening  silence  was  settling  down,  hardly 


276  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

broken  by  a  sound,  till  they  reached  the  busy 
part  of  the  village,  where  the  stores  were.  Once 
beyond  them,  they  felt  it  again,  all  through  the 
winding  road  which  led  to  Grandpa  Walton's. 

Tommy  and  Amanda  were  in  the  front  yard 
playing,  as  they  went  by  Mr.  Martin's,  and  ]\Ir. 
Parker  stopped  to  talk  to  them  for  a  moment, 
and  then  passed  on.  The  red  light  faded  into 
soft,  gray  twilight  while  they  walked,  and  the 
sound  of  mamma's  organ  came  to  them  through 
the  trees,  as  they  went  in  at  grandpa's  gate,  and 
through  the  winding  paths,  up  the  hill  on  which 
the  house  stood.  The  doors  and  windows  were 
all  open,  for  the  night  was  warm  and  clear,  and 
grandma  and  grandpa  sat  in  the  old  parlor  by 
the  window,  while  mamma  played. 

Ainslee  curled  up  on  the  sofa,  listening  for 
a  while  to  the  music :  then  his  eyes  shut,  the 
heavy  little  head  fell  against  Mr.  Parker's  shoul- 
der, who  put  his  arm  about  him,  and  laid  him 
softly  down,  and  Ainslee  was  in  dreamland. 

He  did  not  know  that,  by  and  by,  Mr.  Parker 
carried  him  up-stairs  ;  he  hardly  knew  when 
nurse  pulled  off  his  clothes  and  laid  him  in  his 
own  little  bed ;  and  when  the  bright  sun,  shining 
into  his  eyes,  waked  him  next  morning,  he  had 
to  rub  them  very  hai'd  indeed  before  he  could 
quite  make  up  his  mind  where  he  was. 


LAND  AND  SEA  FLOWERS.  277 

Baby  was  wide  awake  too,  playing  witli  his 
black  doll  Andy,  which  went  to  bed  with  him 
every  night.  Ainslee  climbed  into  mamma's  bed 
and  pulled  baby  in  after  him,  and  a  wonderful 
frolic  began,  which  did  not  end  till  nurse  came 
after  both  of  them.  After  breakfast,  Ann  made 
cookies,  and  Ainslee,  who  liked  to  have  a  piece 
of  dough  quite  as  well  as  any  little  girl,  begged 
some  from  her,  and  cut  out  a  whole  panful 
of  little  cakes  with  grandma's  largest  thimble. 
They  burned  a  little  in  the  oven,  but  that  made  no 
difference,  and  he  ate  all  but  one,  which  he  gave 
to  baby  before  mamma   saw  what  he  was  doing. 

"  I  am  going  to  the  woods  back  of  the  mill- 
pond,"  said  mamma  after  dinner,  "  and  there  is 
such  a  good  road  all  the  way,  that  I  think  we 
will  take  baby,  and  let  nurse  have  a  holiday. 
Do  you  want  to  go,  Ainslee  ?  " 

"  I  guess  I  do,"  said  Ainslee,  jumping  about ; 
"  me  and  Rover  too." 

"  Ask  grandpa  for  the  trowel,"  said  mamma, 
"  and  we  will  dig  some  roots  of  sweet,  white 
violets  to  bring  home." 

Ainslee  brought  the  trowel  and  a  basket  for 
flowers,  and  as  soon  as  baby  was  ready,  they  set 
off.  For  a  little  way,  as  they  came  to  the  turn 
by  Sugar  Loaf  Hill,  the  road  was  sandy,  and 
baby  something  of  a  load   to   pull    through    it. 


278  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

As  they  went  on,  it  grew  firmer,  and  very  soon 
the  mill-pond,  almost  a  lake,  lay  before  them, 
shining  under  the  sun,  and  the  mountain  so 
clearly  reflected  in  it,  that  Ainslce  said  he  was 
sure  he  saw  a  squirrel  running  up  one  of  the 
trees  on  the  mountain  side.  Near  the  dam,  a 
path  led  off  into  the  woods,  and  after  following 
this  for  a  time,  mamma  stopped,  and  sat  down 
on  an  old  log  under  a  tree. 

"  There  are  the  violets,"  she  said,  and  Ainslee, 
looking  where  she  pointed,  saw  one  little  shady 
spot  quite  white  with  them. 

"  Year  after  year,  they  grow  in  this  one  spot," 
mamma  Avent  on,  "  and  year  after  year,  ever 
since  I  was  a  little  girl,  I  have  carried  them 
home  with  their  own  native  earth  about  them, 
and  put  them  in  shady  places,  where  I  was  sure 
they  would  thrive,  but  they  never  did." 

"  What  makes  you  dig  'em  up  to-day,  then, 
mamma  ?  "  Ainslee  asked. 

"  Only  to  keep  a  few  of  them  fresh  a  little 
■while,"  said  mamma,  "  so  that  I  can  enjoy  their 
sweetness  at  home.  I  shall  never  try  any  more 
to  make  them  grow.  If  they  did,  they  would 
be  wild  flowers  no  longer,  and  perhaps  the  charm 
would  go." 

"  It's  nicer  to  come  after  'em,"  said  Ainslee. 
"  See  how  baby  looks  up  at  the  trees.     He  was 


LAND  AND   SEA  FLOWERS.  279 

never  in  the  woods  before,  was  he  ?  Let  him 
get  out,  mamma,  and  walk  a  little  speck." 

"  Just  a  very  little,"  said  mamma,  "  while  I 
get  the  violets  ;  "  and  she  set  baby  on  the  ground, 
who  hardly  knew  what  to  make  of  it,  and  lifted 
his  feet  very  high  over  every  little  stick  and 
stone  in  the  way,  as  he  walked.  Rover  whisked 
through  the  bushes,  looking  for  woodchucks, 
perhaps,  and  by  and  by  mamma  lifted  baby  back 
to  his  carriage,  and  they  turned    toward  home. 

"  I'm  glad  I  ain't  dead,"  said  Ainslee.  "  It's 
nice  to  be  alive." 

"  Very  nice  indeed,"  said  mamma.  "  It  is  a 
beautiful  world  to  be  in,  and  the  longer  you  live, 
the  more  you  will  find  in  it  to  enjoy." 

"  Nurse  says  it's  a  world  o'  troubles,"  said 
Ainslee,  kicking  a  stick  from  the  path,  "  an'  she 
says  I  shall  have  an  awful  lot  of  'em." 

"  I  hope  not  an  '  awful  lot,'  "  mamma  an- 
swered, smiling.  "  You  will  have  some,  perhaps 
a  good  many,  for  we  all  do  ;  but  the  dear  Father 
in  heaven  never  sends  more  than  we  can  bear ; 
and  if  we  are  patient  through  them,  they  all 
turn  to  blessings.  Nurse  has  had  a  great  many 
in  her  life,  and  borne  them  very  bravely ;  some 
day,  perhaps,  she  may,  when  you  are  older,  tell 
you  about  them." 

"  She  said  she  would,"  said  Ainslee.    "  There's 


280  THE   AINSLEE  STORIES. 

a  lot  o'  things  everybody's  goin'  to  tell  me  when 
I'm  older.     I  wish  I  was  older  now." 

"  You  are  coming  to  it  very  fast,"  said 
mamma,  as  they  went  in  at  the  gate.  "  My 
little  Ainslee  is  growing  taller  all  the  time. 
Pretty  soon  he  will  be  gone,  and  there  will  be  a 
big  Ainslee,  as  tall  as  Uncle  Ainslee,  maybe,  and 
Bertie  will  be  big  too.  What  shall  I  do  with- 
out my  little  boys  ?  " 

"  Big  ones  will  be  nicer,"  said  Ainslee,  "  for 
they  won't  tear  their  clothes,  and  keep  plaguing 
you  all  the  time  ;  an'  I'll  love  you  harder  an' 
harder,  mamma,  the  bigger  I  get." 

"  That's  good,"  said  mamma,  stopping  at  the 
door  for  a  great  huo;.  "  Now  let  us  take  care 
of  the  violets;  and  then,  after  you  have  read  to 
me,  I  will  finish  the  story  I  began  yesterday 
mornin<r." 


XVII. 

SETTLING  ACCOUNTS. 

School  had  begun  ao-ain  the  first  Mondav  in 
June,  and  for  nearly  a  fortnight  Ainslee  had 
gone  steadily,  half  of  each  day,  as  usual.  Two 
or  three  new  boys  and  girls  had  come  in ;  but 
as  they  ranked  among  the  older  ones,  Ainslee 
had  very  little  to  do  with  them.  Sampson,  and 
Sinny,  and  he  still  sat  on  the  same  bench  on  the 
boys'  side,  and  Amanda  and  little  Sarah  Jones 
on  the  girls',  and  everything  went  on  just  as  if 
there  had  been  no  vacation.  The  old  stove  had 
been  moved  into  the  entry  behind  the  door,  and 
nobody  thought  of  staying  in  now  at  recess  or 
noon-time,  unless  kept  in  for  bad  lessons,  but  ate 
their  dinners  sitting  on  the  log  near  the  spring, 
or  on  the  ground  under  the  trees.  The  school- 
room windows  were  kept  open  through  the  mid- 
dle of  the  day,  though  Miss  Barrett  threatened 
to  have  them  nailed  down  if  the  children  looked 
out  so  much,  and  Ainslee,  for  one,  did  his  full 
share  of  this  looking.  In  the  great  maple,  near 
by,  a  robin  had  her  nest ;  and  it  was  a  pleasant 


282  THE  AIXSLEE   STORIES. 

cliange,  wlien  the  siK'lling  lesson  grew  tiresome, 
to  look  out  and  up,  and  watch  for  tlie  mother  or 
father  bird  to  come  flying  home,  with  a  bug  or 
worm  for  the  wide-open,  never-satisfied  mouths 
in  the  nest. 

Tiiis  particular  morning  about  which  I  shall 
tell  you,  Ainslee  found,  when  he  ran  out  at  re- 
cess, several  boys  gathered  at  the  foot  of  the 
maple-tree,  and  among  them  one  of  the  new 
ones,  Charley  Gibson,  —  a  light,  active  boy,  fa- 
mous for  climbing  the  tallest  trees,  and  robbing 
nests  wherever  he  found  them,  in  order  to  make 
still  loncrer  the  strino;  of  eo;ss  which  hung  over 
the  looking-glass  in  his  mother's  parlor. 

"  Shinny  up  quick,"  one  of  the  boys  was  say- 
ing, as  Ainslee  ran  up  to  them,  "  or  you  won't 
get  down  afore  recess  is  done." 

"What's  he  goin'  to  do?"  Ainslee  asked. 

"  He's  after  them  robins,"  Stephen  Jones  an- 
swered. "  He's  goin'  to  raise  them,  he  says,  and 
sell  'em  when  they're  big." 

"  Don't  you  do  it,"  said  Ainslee,  earnestly, 
catching  hold  of  Charley,  who  had  just  begun 
the  climb. 

"You  let  go  !  I'd  like  to  know  what  business 
it  is  o'  yourn  ?  "  said  Charley,  holding  on  tight. 
"  Let  go,  I  sav." 

"I  won't,"    said  Ainslee.     "You  sha'n't  get 


SETTLING  ACCOUNTS.  283 

the  poor  little  birds,  an'  make  their  mother  cry. 
They're  crying  now,  'cause  they  think  you're 
coming." 

"Let'em  cry,"  said  Charley.  "I'll  kick  you, 
Ainslee  Barton,  if  you  don't  let  go." 

Charley  struck  out  as  he  spoke,  but  though 
the  heavy  boot-heel  hit  his  forehead,  Ainslee 
held  on  so  tight,  that  Charley  was  forced  to  slide 
down  to  the  ground. 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  pummel  you  all  to 
bits  ?  "  he  began,  seizing  Ainslee,  and  shaking 
him.  "  There's  the  skin  off  on  your  forehead, 
an'  serves  you  right,  too !  Here  you've  held  on 
to  me,  till  I  hain't  got  time  to  go  up  an'  back 
afore  the  bell  rings.  I'm  a  good  mind  as  ever 
was  to  lick  you,  if  you  wasn't  so  little." 

"  Lick  away,"  said  Ainslee,  doubling  his  small 
fists,  while  Sampson,  delighted,  sung  out,  "  Give 
it  to  him,  Charley  !  " 

"  Who  be  you  ?  "  said  Charley,  turning  sud- 
denly on  Sampson,  who  retired  hastily.  "  I  don't 
lick  babies,  and  I  won't  lick  him  ;  but  he  ain't 
goin'  to  stop  my  gettin'  the  birds." 

"  Mamma  says  it's  wicked  to  rob  nests,  after 
the  birds  have  taken  such  pains  to  build  'em  all 
nice,"  said  Ainslee. 

"  'Tain't  wicked,"  said  Charley.  "  They  steal 
cherries  and  everything,  the  whole  time." 


28-4  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

"  Mamma  says  they  eat  more  worms  than  they 
do  cherries,"  Ainslee  answered.  "  There's  aw- 
ful lots  o'  worms  wlien  people  kill  the  birds. 
You  wouldn't  like  somebody  to  come  an'  steal 
you  from  your  father  an'  mother." 

"  O  fuss!  "  said  Charley.  "Birds  don't  care. 
You'll  get  nests  fast  enough,  when  you  stop  be- 
ing so  fat  you  can't  climb." 

"  I  never  will,"  said  Ainslee.  "  I'll  climb  up, 
and  just  peek  in  to  see  how  the  eggs  look,  but  I 
wouldn't  take  one  away  for  nothin'  at  all." 

"  Well,  I  would,"  said  Charley.  "  There's 
the  bell  this  very  minute.  If  I  don't  pay  you 
some  time  !  " 

Ainslee  went  in,  hoping  that  Charley  would 
make  up  his  mind  to  let  the  birds  alone,  and  sat 
down  to  his  spelling  lesson.  J\Iiss  Barrett  looked 
sharply  at  the  black  spot  near  his  eye,  as  he  came 
to  the  class,  but  said  nothing,  though  Sampson 
watched  eagerly,  hoping  she  would  accuse  him 
of  having  been  fighting.  Noon  came,  and  Ains- 
lee ran  out  to  the  maple-tree,  too  excited  about 
the  birds  to  think  of  eating  his  luncheon.  Char- 
ley looked  a  little  dubious  as  he  saw  him  standing 
there. 

"You  go  off,  young  'un,"  he  said.  "  Maybe  I 
sha'n't  get  no  more  birds  after  these." 

"  Don't  get  these  ;   please  to  don't,"   begged 


SETTLING  ACCOUNTS.  285 

Ainslee,  wliile  Amanda  came  near,  just  ready  to 
cry,  if  things  went  wrong.  "  I'll  give  you  my 
barrel  if  you  won't." 

"  I  don't  want  your  barrel,"  said  Charley. 
"  Why,  there's  a  man  goin'  to  give  me  half  a 
dollar  apiece  for  every  one  o'  these  birds  I  raise. 
Out  o'  the  Avay  now,"  and  Ainslee  was  pushed 
aside,  while  Charley  climbed  fast  as  he  could  to 
the  top  of  the  tree.  The  parent  birds  flew  about 
uttering  sharp  cries,  and  a  pair  of  robins  in  an- 
other tree  joined  them,  as  if  afraid  their  turn 
would  come  next. 

Ainslee  watched,  till  Charley,  holding  the  nest 
carefully  in  one  hand,  had  almost  reached  the 
ground  again. 

"  You're  a  bad,  wicked  boy,"  he  shouted  then, 
burstino;  into  tears.  "  You're  a  thief !  "  and  he 
started  on  a  run  for  home,  followed  for  a  little 
way  by  Amanda,  wlio  wanted  to  comfort  him, 
but  not  running  as  fast  as  he,  could  not  catch  up 
in  time,  and  so  had  to  walk  back  again. 

"  I  wouldn't  get  the  dear  little  birds,"  she 
said,  with  her  eyes  full  of  tears.  "  You're  an 
awful  boy,  Charley  Gibson." 

"  What  a  row  all  about  nothin',"  said  Charley, 
starting  fol'  home  with  the  nest  in  his  hand,  but 
thinking  to  himself,  as  he  heard  the  cries  of  the 
old  robins,  that  perhaps  they  did  care  more  than 


28G  THE  AIXSLEE  STORIES. 

he  liad  tliouglit,  and  maybe  he  wouldn't  get  any 
more  nests  for  a  good  while. 

Ainslee  in  tlie  mean  time  went  on,  running  at 
first,  and  then,  as  he  grew  tired,  walking,  till  he 
came  to  grandpa's  gate.  Mamma  Avas  coming 
slowly  down  the  Avinding  paths,  and  Ainslee  ran 
to  meet  her,  crying  again. 

"  Why,  what  is  the  matter  ?  "  said  she,  taking 
hold  of  his  hand.  "  Have  yon  been  fighting, 
Ainslee  ?     Your  eye  is  all  black." 

"  No,  that's  only  a  hit,"  said  Ainslee.  "  But 
Charley  Gibson  stole  a  whole  nest  full  o'  little 
robins,  an'  wouldn't  stop,  and  the  mother  cried 
every  minute." 

"  Too  bad !  too  bad !  "  said  mamma.  "  I  wish 
no  bird  need  ever  be  stolen  again.  God  never 
meant  them  to  be  shut  up  in  cages,  and  robins 
will  be  almost  sure  to  die.  All  our  birds  here 
are  safe,  at  any  rate." 

"  I  wish  all  of  'em,  everywhere,  would  come 
here,"  Ainslee  said.  "  I  wish  all  our  birds  would 
tell  the  others,  so't  they  needn't  ever  go  near 
the  school-house." 

"  Perhaps  some  of  them  have  been  told,"  said 
mamma.  "  For  certainly  we  have  more  and 
more  here  every  year.  Do  you  know  that  our 
little  wrens  are  learning  to  fly  ?  I  have  just 
come  from  the  nest,  and  Mrs.  Wren  was  as  busy 
as  possible  ;  come  and  see." 


SETTLING  ACCOUNTS.  287 

Ainslee  ran  on  by  mamma  to  tlie  garden  and 
the  Canada  plum-tree,  where  Mrs.  Wren,  sitting 
on  a  twig,  did  not  stir  as  they  drew  nearer,  but, 
grown  f'amihar  from  many  such  visits,  only  put 
her  head  a  little  one  side,  and  looked  at  them 
with  her  bright  eyes,  and  then  turned  all  her  at- 
tention to  the  little  wrens,  who  were  half  flying, 
half  hopping,  from  one  twig  to  another.  Ainslee 
watched  them  till  the  dinner-bell  rang,  and  then 
went  in,  with  another  sigh  for  the  poor  robins, 
who  would  never  fly  through  the  trees  again. 

"I  wish  my  aqualium  had  glass  sides,  so't  my 
fishes  could  see  out,"  he  said,  after  dinner. 
"Don't  you  s'pose  they're  lonesome,  mamma  ?  " 

"  They  might  like  it  better  if  they  could  see 
out,"  said  mamma,  "  though  fishes  know  so  little, 
that  I  don't  think  they  are  troubled  at  being  shut 
up.  If  it  seems  to  you,  though,  that  they  are, 
you  can  put  them  back  in  the  brook." 

"  My  two  shiners  have  been  there  ever  an' 
ever  so  long,"  said  Ainslee,  —  "  ever  since  last 
summer.  The  pollywogs  don't  care,  I  know, 
'cause  the  water  in  my  aqualium  isn't  half  so 
dirty  as  the  puddle  I  got  'em  in,  an'  the  turtles 
don't  either.  Maybe  the  shiners  do.  I  guess 
I'll  put  'em  back." 

"Well,"  said  mamma,  "I  hear  Sinny's  voice 
in  the  yard,  and  you  can  go  together  if  you  like." 


288  THE  AINSLEE   STORIES. 

Ainslee  ran  out  presently,  to  find  Siiiny  play- 
ing with  Rover,  and  went  on  to  the  little  house 
in  the  barn-yard,  about  which  you  all  know. 

"  What  you  goin'  to  do  with  that  tin  pail  ?  " 
Sinny  called,  running  after  him. 

"  Take  my  shiners  home,"  said  Ainslee.  "  I 
ain't  ever  going  to  keep  any  more  till  I've  got  a 
real,  true  Aqualium,  with  glass  sides,  just  like 
Mr.  Parker's,  so  't  they  can  see  out  every  min- 
ute." 

"  They  don't  care,  I  don't  believe,"  said  Sinny, 
as  Ainslee  tried  to  dip  them  up. 

"  I  do,  if  they  don't,"  said  Ainslee.  "  I  won't 
ever  have  any  more  things  shut  up  where  they 
can't  get  out,  unless  I  know,  certain  sure,  they 
don't  care.  Oh  dear !  I  can't  get  but  one  shiner 
to  time,  an'  the  biggest  pollywog  keeps  getting 
in,  an'  every  time  I  tip  him  out,  the  shiner  tips 
out  too." 

"Pull  him  out  by  his  tail,"  said  Sinny,  "an' 
I'll  get  a  dipper,  and  pour  the  other  shiner  right 
into  the  pail." 

"  Well,"  said  Ainslee,  and  Sinny  ran  in  for  a 
dipper,  with  which  they  by  and  by  ladled  out 
shiner  number  two,  and  started  for  the  mill 
brook.  Rover  running  before  them. 

"  There's  where  we  got  'em,"  said  Sinn}', 
pointing    to    the    shallow  spot  where    they  had 


SETTLING  ACCOUNTS.  289 

sailed    pea    pods   nearly  a  year    before.     "  You 
goin'  to  put  'em  back  In  the  very  same  place  ?  " 

"  I  guess  so,"  said  Ainslee.  "  Maybe  they 
remember  it,  an'  maybe  some  o'  these  here  are 
their  relations." 

Ainslee  tipped  the  pail ;  out  went  the  water, 
and  the  shiners  with  it,  and  the  little  shallow, 
alive  a  moment  before  with  their  "  relations," 
was  left  quite  empty ;  not  one  there. 

"  They  all  swimmed  away  together,"  said 
Ainslee,  "  so  I  don't  know  whether  mine  was 
glad  or  not.  I  guess  they  was.  What  piece  you 
going  to  speak  Friday,  SInny  ?  " 

"  I  ain't  goin'  to  speak  none,"  said  Sinny,  sit- 
ting on  the  bank.  "  We  littlest  ones  don't  have 
to.     I  don't  know  none." 

"  I  know  we  don't  have  to,"  said  Ainslee. 
"  But  Miss  Barrett  said  we  might,  if  our  moth- 
ers had  time  to  teach  us.  I  'most  know  one 
now,  an'  I'm  going  to  get  mamma  to  read  it  to 
me  till  I  all  do.  I  can  read  some  of  it  myself — 
'most  all.  I  know  some  of  another,  an'  I'll  teach 
it  to  you  if  you  want  me  to,  Sinny." 

"  I  do'  known  as  I  do,"  said  Sinny.  "  What 
is  it?" 

"It's    real   short,"   Ainslee    answered,  sitting 
down  by  him.     "  I  can  say  it  right  off:  — 
19 


290  TlIK   AINSLEE  STORIES. 

" '  One  thing  at  a  time, 

And  that  done  well, 
Is  a  ver}'  good  rule,  — 

So  I  have  heard  tell. 
All  that  you  do, 

Do  with  your  might  ; 
Things  done  b}'  halves 

Are  never  done  right.' 

You  want  to  learn  it  ?  '' 

"  Yes,  I  guess  so,"  said  Sinny.  "  Say  it  slow, 
though,"  and  Ainslee  repeated  it,  line  by  line, 
till  Sinny  knew  it  quite  well. 

"  You  say  it  to  me  every  day  till  Friday,"  said 
Ainslee,  "  so's  to  know  it  perfect,  an'  you  must 
n't  say, —  'So  I  have  liearn  tell.'  You  must 
say,  — '  So  I  have  heard  tell.'  " 

'"So  I  have  heard  tell,' "  repeated  Sinny. 
"  Now,  what's  yourn  ?  " 

"  Oh,  mine's  in  a  book,"  said  Ainslee,  "  an' 
it's  about  stealinjT  birds  ;  and  I'm  going  to  look 
right  at  Charley  Gibson  when  I  say  it.  You'll 
hear  it  Friday." 

"  Tell  me  now,"  said  Sinny ;  but  Ainslee 
would  not,  and  at  last  Sinn}'-  went  home  pro- 
voked. By  next  morning,  however,  he  was  quite 
ready  to  make  up,  and  to  tease  again ;  but  Ains- 
lee was  firm,  and  only  mamma  and  Amanda,  I 
think,  knew  exactly  what  he  was  going  to  say, 
till  Friday  came. 

Friday    afternoon  was  the   time    for  speaking 


SETTLING  ACCOUNTS.  291 

pieces,  and  Ainslee  did  not  go  till  noon  of  that 
day,  in  order  not  to  get  tired.  The  older  boys 
finished  their  pieces  at  last,  and  Miss  Barrett  was 
about  to  call  the  conduct  roll,  when  Ainslee  held 
up  his  hand. 

"  Me  an'  Sinny  's  got  pieces  too,"  he  said. 

"  Well,"  said  Miss  Barrett,  "  make  your  bow, 
and  say  them,  then." 

Ainslee   stepped  forward,  faced   the   scholars, 

and  made  his  bow,  a  little  frightened,  now  that 

the  time  had  really  come ;  and  then,  fixing  his 

eyes  on   Charley   Gibson,  repeated,   in   quite    a 

loud  voice,  and  with  wonderfvil  emphasis,  these 

^'erses :  — 

" '  If  ever  1  see, 
On  bush  or  tree, 
Young  birds  in  a  pretty  Tiest ; 
I'll  not  in  my  play, 
Steal  those  birds  aioaij, 
To  grieve  their  mother's  breast. 

"  '  My  mother,  I  know, 
Would  sorrow  so, 
Should  /  be  stolen  away  ; 

So  I'll  speak  to  the  birds 

In  my  so/lest  words, 
Nor  harm  them  in  my  play.'  " 

Charley  first  laughed  a  little,  and  then  colored 
as  he  went  on  ;  and  as  Ainslee  kept  his  eyes 
steadily  on  him,  raised  his  desk-lid  at  last,  and 
stayed  behind  that  till  they  ended. 


292  thp:  ainslee  stories. 

"Very  well,"'  said  Miss  Barrett,  as  Ainslee 
sat  down,  '*  very  well  indeed.     Now,  Sinny." 

Sinny  stumbled  at  the  second  verse,  and  had 
to  be  prompted  by  Ainslee,  but  got  through  safe- 
ly, and  sat  down,  looking  rather  miserable. 

"  Say  that  again  next  Friday,"  said  Miss  Bar- 
rett, "and  then  you'll  know  it  perfect." 

Charley  Gibson  shook  his  fist  at  Ainslee  as 
they  went  out  after  school,  but  as  he  laughed  at 
the  same  time,  could  not  have  meant  much  harm. 
Whether  he  made  up  his  mind  to  — 

"  Speak  to  the  birds 
111  his  softest  words, 
Nor  harm  tliem  in  his  play," 

ever  after  this,  I  do  not  know  ;  but  I  do  know 
that,  when  another  year  came,  the  robins  built 
safely  in  the  great  maple,  though  Charley  still 
went  to  school. 

Monday  noon,  Ainslee  came  running  home  in 
great  excitement. 

"  Always  ready  to  fly  out  o'  your  skin  about 
something  or  other,"  said  Ann,  as  he  went 
through  the  kitchen.     "  What's  goin'  on  now  ?  " 

"  It's  a  new  store,"  said  Ainslee,  running  right 
into  grandpa,  ^vho  had  started  for  a  walk  in  the 
garden,  and  was  coming  slowly  out. 

"  Come,  come  !  "   said  grandpa.     "  If  there  is 


SETTLING   ACCOUNTS.  293 

a  new  store,  I  don't  want  to  turn  a  somerset  clown 
the  back  steps.     Whose  store  is  it  ?  " 

"  It's  Jim  Field's,"  said  Ainslee.  "  Don't  you 
know,  gi-andpa  ?  Sinny  says  he's  his  mother's 
second  cousin,  an'  he  hasn't  trot  but  one  leg. 
He's  got  all  kinds  o'  candy,  an'  nuts,  and  figs, 
and  eveiything." 

"  So  much  the  worse  for  the  school-children," 
said  grandpa,  walking  on.  "  You  eat  yourselves 
sick  Avith  trash,  as  it  is." 

"  I  don't  ever,"  said  Ainslee.  "  Mamma  won't 
let  me.     Where  is  mamma  ?  " 

"  Up-stairs,"  said  Ann,  and  Ainslee  tumbled 
up. 

"  Come  stiller,  dear,"  said  mamma,  as  he  went 
into  her  room.  "  One  would  think  it  was  a  can- 
non-ball bumping  up  the  stairs,  instead  of  a  little 
boy.     What  is  the  hurry  ?  " 

"  Only  to  tell  you  about  the  store,  mamma," 
said  Ainslee,  —  "the  new  store." 

"  I  heaixl  what  you  told  grandpa,"  said  mam- 
ma.    "  Where  is  this  famous  new  store  ?  " 

"Why,  it's  close  to  the  school-house,"  said 
Ainslee,  jumping  up  and  down.  "  Don't  you 
know  that  little  speck  of  a  house,  mamma,  after 
you've  gone  by  Mr.  Martin's  ?  Well,  Jim  Field 
is  going  to  live  in  the  back  room,  and  have  store 
in  the  front.     He's  got  pins,  an' •thread,  an'  her- 


294  TUI-:  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

rings,  an'  everything,  'cause  I  saw  'em  in  the  cor- 
ner, an'  Sinny  says  he's  going  to  have  candy  and 
all.     Mamma!" 

"  Well,"  said  mamma. 

"  I  wish  I  had  some  money,"  Ainslee  went  on. 

"  What  would  you  do  with  it  ?  "  mamma  asked. 

"  I'd  buy  a  fig  for  Amanda,"  said  Ainslee, 
planting  both  elbows  in  mamma's  lap,  and  look- 
ing up  into  her  eyes.  "  An'  for  me  too.  I 
love  'em.  Why  can't  I  have  some  pennies  every 
week,  like  Jack  ?     Two,  maybe." 

"  Two  would  not  be  a  great  many,"  said  mam- 
ma, smiling.     "  I  think  I  can  say  '  Yes  '  to  that." 

"  All  the  whole  time  ?  "  said  Ainslee.  "  Every 
single  Monday  morning  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  mamma;  "  you  will  never  make 
yourself  sick  on  what  two  pennies  will  buy.  In 
fact,  I  had  thought  of  three  ;  with  three,  you  and 
Amanda,  and  Sinny  too,  can  have  fine  times. 
Will  yo\i  have  it  in  pennies  or  currency,  sir  ?  " 

"  Pennies,"  said  Ainslee,  "  and  then  I  can 
spend  one  a  day,  till  they're  every  one  gone.  O 
you  sweetest  mamma  !  " 

Sweetest  mamma  returned  the  hug  which  al- 
most choked  her,  and  then  went  on  with  her 
sewing,  while  Ainslee  thumped  down-stairs  again, 
to  tell  grandpa  and  Ann  of  his  good  fortune. 

So  it  came  to  pass,  that  when  Jim  Field  had 


SETTLING  ACCOUNTS.  295 

settled  clown  at  housekeeping  in  the  back  room, 
and  the  needles,  and  pins,  and  herrings  wliich 
Ainslee  had  seen,  and  the  candy  and  nuts  he  had 
not  seen,  were  arranged  on  shelves  in  the  front 
one,  he  found  very  excellent  customers  in  the 
school-children.  A  brisk  demand  for  slate  pen- 
cils and  licorice  stick  began  at  once,  and  every 
spare  penny  among  them  found  its  way  into  the 
little  cash  drawer.  Sinny,  who  had  no  money, 
called  often,  and  stayed  long,  hoping  that  he 
would  be  treated  in  a  cousinly  way,  and  perhaps 
receive  a  handful  of  nuts,  or  a  stick  of  candy  ; 
but  Jim  had  either  forgotten  their  relationship, 
or  did  not  want  to  remember  it,  and  day  after 
day  Sinny  went  home  empty-handed. 

Ainslee's  first  three  pennies  had  given  him  a 
great  deal  of  trouble.  Mamma  had  handed  them 
to  him  at  once,  not  waiting  for  next  Monday  to 
come,  and  he  had  gone  off  in  the  highest  spirits, 
fully  intending  to  treat  both  Amanda  and  Sinny. 
One  stick  of  candy  seemed  so  small,  that  Ains- 
lee, after  buying  it,  looked  about  dissatisfied, 
seeking  for  somethino;  which  should  make  more 
show.  Peanuts  and  raisins  seemed  the  most  de- 
sirable things,  and  yet  one  penny  must  be  saved 
for  another  day.  It  would  never  do  to  spend  all 
three  at  one  time. 

"  Well,"  said  Jim  Field,  seeing  his  hesitation, 
"do  you  want  anything  else  ?  " 


296  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

"Til  take  half  a  cent's  worth  o'  peanuts,  and 
lialf  a  cent's  worth  o'  raisins,"  said  Ainslee, 
forced  to  decide,  and  laying  his  second  })enny  on 
the  counter, 

"Well,  ni  do  it  for  once,"  said  Jim,  "but  I 
couldn't  again.  'Tain't  no  way  to  trade.  Don't 
you  tell  any  o'  the  others  I  let  you  have  'em," 
and  Jim  handed  Ainslee  a  dozen  or  so  peanuts, 
and  four  raisins. 

"I've  got  one  more  penny,"  said  Ainslee,  "  but 
I  don't  want  to  spend  that  till  to-morrow." 

'"All  right,"  said  Jim.  "  There's  your  bell; 
hurry  along,"  and  Ainslee  ran  on,  putting  his 
purchases  at  the  very  bottom  of  his  pocket,  lest 
he  should  be  tempted  to  eat  them. 

At  recess  Sampson  was  tried  by  seeing  Aman- 
da and  -Sinny,  seated  on  the  log  near  the  spring, 
and  enjoying  peppermint  stick,  while  Ainslee  di- 
vided the  peanuts.  Thirteen  there  proved  to  be, 
and  this  odd  peanut  and  raisin  he  hardly  knew 
what  to  do  with. 

"You  ought  to  eat  'em,"  said  Amanda.  "  You 
bought  the  whole." 

"  I'd  give  'em  to  Samp,  if  he  wasn't  so  mean," 
said  Ainslee.  "  I'll  eat  the  peanut,  I  guess.  No 
I  won't.  I'll  chop  the  raisin  into  three  pieces, 
and  let's  plant  the  peanut,  after  we've  eaten  the 
rest." 


SETTLING  ACCOUNTS.  297 

"  Will  it  grow  ?  "  said  Amanda. 

"  O'  course  it  will,"  Ainslee  answered.  "  We'll 
have  all  we  want  by'm  by,  and  I  can  spend  all 
the  three  pennies  for  raisins  to  eat  with  'eai." 

So  a  hole  was  dug  near  the  spring,  and  for 
many  days  they  watched,  expecting  to  see  peanut 
leaves  coming  through  the  ground  at  any  mo- 
ment. Two  good  reasons  prevented.  In  the 
first  place,  the  peanut  was  a  roasted  one,  and 
could  not  have  grown  imder  any  circumstances  ; 
and  in  the  second  place,  Sampson,  having  watched 
for  a  good  chance,  had  dug  it  up,  and  eaten  it 
with  great  relish,  one  day  after  school. 

As  time  went  on,  Ainslee  found  three  cents  a 
week  by  no  means  enough  money  with  which  to 
do  all  the  "  treating  "  he  wanted.  Figs  especially, 
used  it  up  wonderfully  fast,  two  for  three  cents 
being  Mr.  Field's  rule  ;  but  one  day  in  the  vil- 
lage, an  idea  came. 

"  Charge  it  on  my  bill,"  said  Mr.  Walton,  as 
he  went  out  of  the  grocery. 

"  Charge  it,"  repeated  Ainslee.  "  What  is 
'  charge  it,'  grandpa  ?  " 

"  It  means,"  said  grandpa,  "  that  I  am  not 
ready  to  pay  now,  and  ask  him  to  write  down  in 
his  books  that  I  owe  him  so  much.  I  pay  my 
bills  once  a  month,  because  it  is  more  convenient 
on  some  accounts  to  let  them  run  that  lenfrth  of 


208  Tilt:   AINSLEE   STORIES. 

time.  Suinetimes  1  have  not  money  enough  with 
uie,  and  tliere  are  a  good  many  reasons  why 
charging  is  a  good  plan,  though  in  almost  all 
cases  it  is  better  to  pay  as  you  go.  If  I  were  a 
poor  man,  I  would  never  run  up  a  bill." 

Ainslee  walked  on  by  grandpa,  thinking  so 
hard,  he  did  not  hear  plainly  what  w'as  said. 
Why  should  not  he  run  up  a  bill  at  Jim  Field's  ? 
Grandpa  and  grandma  very  often  gave  him  pen- 
nies, and  if  he  saved  them  all,  Jim  could  be  paid 
some  time.  Then  it  would  be  so  nice  to  go  in 
every  day  and  get  what  he  wanted.  Ainslee 
grew  quite  excited  thinking  about  it ;  and  yet  he 
had  no  desire  to  run  home  and  tell  mamma,  as 
he  almost  always  did,  every  new  thought  that 
came  into  his  mind,  and  this  might  have  shown 
him  that  there  was  something  not  quite  right 
about  it. 

Next  morning  came,  and  Ainslee  rushed  oiF  to 
school,  stopping  at  Jim's  on  the  way.  Once  in 
the  store,  his  courage  almost  failed,  but  Jim 
looked  very  good-natured,  and  some  fresh  raisins 
in  a  box,  too  good  to  do  without. 

"  Two  cents'  worth  o'  raisins,"  Ainslee  said. 
"  I  haven't  got  any  pennies  this  morning,  but 
you  can  charge  'em,  Jim,"  he  added,  as  the  little 
parcel  was  put  in  his  hand. 

Jim  looked  doubtful  a  moment,  but  being  sure 


SETTLING  ACCOUNTS.  299 

that  Grandpa  Walton  would  see  that  the  money 
was  paid,  said,  "  All  right,"  and  Ainslee  started 
off  to  share  the  raisins,  and  think  what  a  nice, 
easy  Avay  it  was  of  getting  them.  Fortunately, 
or  perhaps  unfortunately,  for  him,  a  gentleman 
who  spent  that  evening  at  grandpa's  took  some 
bright,  new  scrip  from  his  pocket-book,  to  show 
to  grandpa,  and  seeing  Ainslee  looking  on,  gave 
him  a  five-cent  one.  Jim  was  paid  next  morn- 
ing and  three  cents'  worth  of  fio-s  boufflit  beside  ; 
and  then,  seeing  some  very  nice  looking 'molasses 
candy  on  the  shelf,  two  cents  more  were  spent 
for  that,  and  charged  on  Jim's  slate. 

So  matters  went  on  ;  Ainslee  paying  when  he 
had  money,  but  never  catching  up  with  the  bill, 
which  grew  and  grew  all  the  time  ;  till  one  morn- 
ing Jim,  looking  very  serious,  said,  "  I  guess  you 
don't  know  how  much  you  owe  me,  do  ye  ?  " 

"  How  much  ? "  said  Ainslee,  beginning  to 
feel  very  uncomfortable. 

"  Twenty-eight  cents,"  Jim  answered,  "  an'  I 
want  you  to  pay  me  right  away.  Does  your 
gran'ther,  or  ma,  know  you  got  things  without 
l)aying  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Ainslee;  "I'll  pay  you  pretty 
soon,"  and  he  walked  out  of  the  little  store,  and 
down  the  road.  The  school  bell  was  ringing, 
but  he  could  not  go  there,  and  he  went  on  till 


300  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

he  came  to  a  turn  in  the  road,  which  hid  the 
school-liouse  and  the  store,  and  then  turning  into 
a  jiatli  wliich  led  througli  some  woods,  sat  down 
on  a  stump  and  began  to  tliink.  Twenty-eight 
cents  I  What  would  mamma  say,  and  grandpa 
too,  and  how  could  he  ever  tell  them  ?  Suppose 
mamma  would  not  pay,  and  Jim  should  get 
angry,  and  say  he  would  send  him  to  prison,  as 
the  druggist  had  done  last  summer  ?  and  at  this 
dreadful  thought,  Ainslee  dropped  to  the  ground, 
and  leaning  his  head  against  the  stump,  cried 
miserably. 

"  Why  Ainslee,  child,  what  is  the  trouble  ?  " 
said  a  voice  presently,  and  Ainslee  looked  up  to 
see  Mr.  Parker  standing  close  by,  Avho  in  a  mo- 
ment sat  down  on  the  old  stump,  and  put  his 
arm  about  him. 

"  I  don't  want  to  tell,"  said  Ainslee,  choked 
with  crying.  "  I  want  to  run  away,  and  never 
see  anybody  any  more." 

"  That  would  not  help  it,"  said  Mr.  Parker, 
half  smiling.  "  If  you  have  done  anything 
wrong,  the  only  safe  way  is  to  tell  it  all  to  some- 
body who  can  help  you  to  do  right.  Perhaps  I 
can,  now.  Have  you  been  quarreling  very  hard 
with  somebody  ?  " 

"  No,  oh  no  !  "  said  Ainslee.  "  I  wish  I  had. 
It's  ever  so  much  badder  than  that." 


"' VVhv,  Aiuslee,  chilli,  wliat  is  the  trouble?'  saiil  a  voice  prcseiitiy." 
See  page  300. 


SETTLING  ACCOUNTS.  301 

Little  by  little  the  whole  story  came  out,  and 
then  Ainslee  waited  to  hear  what  would  be  said 
about  it. 

"  Pretty  bad,"  said  Mr.  Parker  ;  "  but  not  so 
bad  as  it  might  be.  The  first  thing,  now,  is  to 
tell  mamma  ;  and  the  second,  to  find  a  w-ay  of 
paying  the  debt.  Will  you  earn  the  money  in 
some  way,  or  will  it  be  easier  to  ask  mamma  for 
it?" 

"  Fd  rather  earn  it,"  said  Ainslee,  after  a  mo- 
ment ;  "  only  I  don't  know  any  way." 

"  I  do,"  said  Mr.  Parker,  smiling  brightly  at 
him.  "I  have  thought  of  a  way,  since  I  sat 
here,  which  would  do  it,  in  not  so  very  long  a 
time.  Suppose,  now,  we  walk  on  to  grandpa's 
together.  I  was  on  my  way  there,  when  I  saw 
you.  You  can  tell  mamma ;  and  then  I  will  ask 
her  if  you  can  earn  the  money  in  the  way  I  have 
thought  of." 

"  You're  real  good,"  said  Ainslee,  smiling 
through  some  tears  wdiich  would  still  come. 
''  I    won't    ever   get    anything    charged    again." 

"  No,  I  don't  think  you  will,"  said  Mr.  Parker  ; 
"  and  if  you  do  not,  this  morning's  trouble  may 
be  one  of  the  best  things  that  ever  happened  to 
you.  Running  in  debt  to  anybody,  when  you  do 
not  know  you  ever  can  pay  them,  is  as  bad  as 
stealing,  almost,  though  very  few  people  think 
so." 


302  THE   AINSLEE  STORIES. 

"Why,  what  is  tlie  matter?"  said  mamma, 
surprised,  as  a  few  minutes  later  they  walked 
into  the  parlor. 

"  A  practical  illustration  of  the  horrors  of 
debt,"  said  Mr.  Parker,  smiling.  "  I  think  I 
hear  Mr.  Walton's  voice  in  the  dining-room,  and 
while  Ainslee  talks  to  you  for  a  little  while,  I 
will  do  my  errand  there,  if  you  please." 

"  I  am  glad  it  is  no  worse,"  said  mamma, 
when  Ainslee,  in  a  low  voice,  and  with  a  very 
red  face,  had  told  his  story.  "  But  I  hope  my 
little  boy  will  remember  all  his  life,  that  getting 
into  debt  carelessly,  with  no  means  to  pay,  is  a 
very  mean  thing  to  do.  Earning  the  money  to 
pay  this  one  Avith,  will  be  a  better  lesson  than 
anything  I  can  say  to  you,  and  Mr.  Parker  is 
very  kind  to  help  you  in  it." 

"  I  don't  know  what  he  wants  me  to  do," 
said  Ainslee.     "  He's  going  to  tell  you  himself." 

"  Hard  work,"  said  Mr.  Parker,  walking  in. 
"  Very  hard  work  indeed.  My  little  onion  bed  is 
full  of  weeds  ;  and  if  I  show  you  how,  I  think 
you  can  weed  it  for  me  nicely.  You  can  come 
down  for  an  hour  every  afternoon,  if  mamma  is 
willing,  and  if  you  work  well,  I  will  give  you  — 
Well,  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  give  you  when  the 
work  is  done." 

So,  for  several  days,  Ainslee  went  down  regu- 
larly to  Mr.  Parker's,  and  weeded  in  the  little 


SETTLING  ACCOUNTS.  303 

onion  bed.  Small  as  it  was,  it  took  him  a  good 
many  liours,  for  stooping  between  the  rows  made 
his  legs  ache,  and  every  few  minutes  he  had  to 
run  out  into  the  path  to  rest.  He  was  a  very- 
small  boy,  you  know,  and  every  day  added  a  few 
fresh  weeds  to  the  ground  he  had  gone  over,  and 
made  the  old  ones  stronger,  and  harder  to  pull  up. 
Randy  wanted  him  to  stay  to  tea  every  afternoon, 
but  Mr.  Parker  said,  "  No  :  it  would  seem  then 
too  much  like  play,  and  the  harder  work  Ainslee 
had,  the  more  surely  he  would  remember  all  the 
difficulties  of  getting  into  debt."  At  last,  though, 
the  afternoon  came  when  Ainslee,  standing  be- 
fore the  bed,  could  not  see  a  single  weed  in  it,  and 
ran  in  to  call  Mr.  Parker,  who  left  his  writing, 
and  came  out  at  once. 

"  Bravely  done  !  "  he  said,  walking  around  the 
bed.  "  Not  a  weed  there.  You  have  worked 
like  a  Trojan,  Ainslee  ;  better  than  I  had  any 
thought  you  would  ;  and  now  for  the  pay.  Randy 
will  see  that  your  face  and  hands  are  clean,  and 
then  you  can  come  into  the  study." 

Randy  washed  the  hot  face  and  hands,  and 
brushed  his  hair,  giving  him  a  hug  as  she  ended, 
and  then  Ainslee  ran  in  to  Mr.  Parker,  who  sat 
in  his  study  chair,  while  on  the  table  were  a  pile 
of  bright  pennies. 

"  Twenty-eight,"   said  Ainslee,  after  he  had 


304  THE  AINSLEE    STORIES. 

counted  them,  one  by  one.  "  Why,  liow  nice ! 
I  can  pay  Jim  on  tlie  way  liome,  can't  I  ?  Twenty- 
eight's  a  lot.     It's  good  I  could  earn  'em." 

"  You  have  earned  more  than  the  twenty-eight 
cents,"  said  Mr.  Parker.  "  More  than  you  would 
understand,  if  I  should  tell  you  now.  You  have 
been  taking  in  patience,  and  perseverance,  and 
honor,  as  well  as  pennies  ;  and  though  the  twenty- 
eight  are  all  I  shall  pay  you,  here  is  something 
else,  which  you  can  keep  all  your  life,  and  which 
will  make  you  remember  this  trouble,  if  vou 
were  ever  inclined  to  forget  it,"  and  Mr.  Parker 
put  into  his  hands  a  large  book  bound  in  green. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Ainslee,  turning  it  over.  "  It's 
beautiful  —  pictures;  lots  of 'em;  only  the  name's 
so  big  I  can't  read  it." 

"  'Andersen's  Stories,'  "  said  Mr.  Parker. 
"  The  book  from  which  have  come,  '  The  Ugly 
Duck,'  and  'The  Little  Match  Girl,'  and  the 
'  Snow  Queen,'  and  all  those  stories  you  love  so 
well.  By  another  year  you  can  read  them  your- 
self, almost  all,  I  think,  and  till  then  mamma  will 
read  them  for  you.  Now,  you  want  to  go  right 
on,  I  suppose,  and  pay  Jim.  I'll  put  the  book 
back  in  the  paper,  so  you  can  carry  it  in  good 
order." 

Ainslee  ran  fast  as  he  could,  and  dashed  into 
Jim's  store  in  such  a  hurry,  that  he  came  out 


SETTLING  ACCOUNTS.  305 

from  the  back  room,  wondering  what  had  hap- 
pened. 

"I've  got  the  twenty-eight  cents,"  said  Ains- 
lee,  letting  them  ring  on  the  counter,  "an'  I 
ain't  ever  going  to  have  any  more  things  charged." 

"Your  ma  let  yon  have  'em,  I  suppose,"  said 
Jim,  dropping  them  into  the  money  drawer. 

"  No  she  didn't,"  said  Ainslee.  "  I  earned 
'em,"  and  he  ran  out  again  and  toward  home, 
stopping  for  a  moment  to  tell  Amanda,  whom  he 
saw  in  the  front  yard,  that  his  troubles  were  over. 

"  I  sha'n't  have  lots  o'  things  to  treat  you  with 
any  more,"  he  said  ;  "  and  maybe  you  won't  like 
me  so  much." 

"  Yes  I  will,"  said  Amanda,  bussing  him.  "  I 
love  you,  anyway,  'cause  you're  nice.  I  don't 
care  if  you  don't  give  me  anything." 

Ainslee  went  on,  happy  as  possible,  and  found 
mamma  in  the  summer-house. 

"  Jim's  all  paid,"  he  said,  jumping  into  her 
lap,  "  and  I've  got  a  beauty  book,  and  I  told 
Amanda,  and  she  don't  care  if  I  don't  give  her 
things.     I  feel  awful  nice." 

"  Very  nice,  you  mean,"  said  mamma.  "  I'm 
glad  you  liave  had  patience  enough  to  earn  the 
money,  and  papa  will  be  glad,  too,  that  you  did 
not  let  any  one  else  pay  your  debts." 

"  What  lots    I'll  have   to  tell   him   when   he 

20 


306  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

comes,"  said  Ainslee,  taking  hold  of  mamma's 
hand  as  the  tea  bull  rang,  and  they  went  in  to- 
gether. "  I'll  have  to  sit  up  late,  ever  so  long, 
and  talk  all  the  time." 

"You  do  something  very  like  that  now,"  said 
mamma,  laughing,  but  thinking,  as  she  looked 
down  at  the  bright,  eager  face,  that  papa  would 
be  more  than  willing  to  listen,  even  if  the  sitting 
up  were  "  ever  so  long." 


XVIII. 

ONE    DAY. 

Boom  !  Boom !  went  the  old  cannon  on  the 
common,  and  Ainslee  sat  up  in  bed  suddenly, 
and  rubbed  his  eyes.  Baby,  too,  heard  the  sound, 
and  turned  in  his  little  crib. 

Boom !  Boom !  and  Ainslee  bounced  out  of 
bed,  and  ran  to  the  open  window  of  mamma's 
room.  In  the  east  the  sun  had  just  risen,  and 
the  white  mist  was  still  rolling  up  the  mountain 
side.  Haifa  second  he  looked  —  not  at  the  mist, 
but  at  the  thin  blue  wreath  of  smoke  curling  up 
among  the  trees,  and  then  shouted,  —  "  Fourth 
o'  July's  begun,  mamma !  Fourth  o'  July's  be- 
gun !  " 

"  Dear  me  !  "  said  mamma,  opening  her  eyes 
slowly.  "  Are  you  awake,  Ainslee  ?  Why,  it 
is  hardly  five  o'clock ;  and  if  you  do  not  run  back 
to  bed,  and  go  to  sleep  again,  how  can  you  keep 
awake  this  evening  to  see  the  fire-works  ?  " 

"  Why,  I'm  big  now,  you  know,  mamma,"  said 
Ainslee.  "  Ever  so  much  bigirer'n  I  was  last 
Fourth   o'  July.     I    could   keep  awake   all  the 


308  THE   AINSLEE  STORIES. 

time  if  I  was  a  mind  to.  I  couldn't  go  to  sleep 
now,  if  I  was  to  ti*y." 

"  Play  with  baby,  then,  till  nurse  comes,"  said 
mamma,  "  and  perhaps  I  can  have  another  nap." 

"Why,  it's  Fourth  o'  July!"  said  Ainslee, 
jumping  up  and  down,  as  the  bells  began  to  ring, 
and  the  cannon  boomed  again.  "  You  couldn't 
go  to  sleep  again,  mamma." 

"No,  I  don't  really  think  I  could,"  mamma 
answered,  as  baby  tumbled  over  the  side  of  his 
crib  into  her  bed,  and  sat  with  wide  open  eyes, 
listening  to  the  unusual  sounds:  Avhile  Ainslee 
took  a  towel  from  the  rack  and  w-aved  it,  shout- 
ing "  Hurrah  I  "  "  Hullah  !  "  baby  repeated,  as 
if  he  knew  all  about  Fourth  of  July  ;  and  "  Bul- 
la!  "  he  shouted  again,  as  nurse,  coming  in, 
picked  him  up  from  the  bed,  and  walked  away 
with  him. 

"  I  hear  grandpa  down-stairs,"  said  Ainslee, 
"and  Ann's  buildino;  the  kitchen  fire.  I'm  soino; 
to  get  dressed  this  minute." 

"  Well,"  said  mamma.  "  Rest  is  over  for  to- 
day, it  seems,  and  we  will  all  dress.  Remember, 
though,  that  grandma  had  a  headache  last  night, 
and  perhaps  it  is  not  well  yet,  so  do  not  make  too 
much  noise." 

"I  never  would  do  such  a  thing,"  answered 
Ainslee,  whisking  across  the   hall,  to  the  room 


ONE  DAY.  309 

where  nurse  was  dressing  baby.  "  O  mamma ! 
do  come  and  look  at  Bertie.  Ain't  he  a  beau- 
tiful baby  ?  " 

"Very,"  said  mamma,  who  had  come  to  the 
door  and  stood  there  for  a  few  minutes,  looking 
in. 

Bertie  was  in  the  same  bath-tub  into  which 
Ainslee  had  put  Sinny  a  year  ago ;  his  white  lit- 
tle limbs  shining  through  the  cool  water,  and 
such  a  splashing  and  dashing  going  on,  that  nurse 
had  stepped  back,  and  was  wiping  her  face  on 
her  apron. 

"  Let  me  get  in  with  him ! "  said  Ainslee. 
"  Do  let  me  get  in  with  him,  mamma.  The  tub's 
plenty  big  enough,  an'  I'll  show  him  how  to 
make  an  awful  rain-storm." 

"  For  the  land's  sake  don't  show  him  nothin' 
more,"  said  nurse,  beginning  to  take  baby  out  in 
a  hurry.  "  Every  bit  o'  mischief  he  can,  he  does 
the  very  same  as  you.  It's  a  mercy  there's  four 
years,  'most,  between  you  ;  and  he  can't  catch 
up  in  time  to  have  two  of  you  making  me  crazy 
to  oncet." 

"  I  won't  make  you  crazy,"  said  Ainslee.  "  It's 
Fourth  o'  July  morning  ;  mayn't  I  get  in  ?  " 

"If  nurse  is  willing,"  mamma  said. 

Nurse  said  nothing  ;  but  as  Ainslee  caught  a 
very  little  smile  in  her  eyes,  and  just  curling  the 


310  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

corners  of  her  mouth,  he  waited  for  no  more 
words,  but  hopped  into  the  tub  at  once,  while 
baby  sat  quite  still  with  pleasure  for  a  moment, 
and  then  squealed  louder  than  before. 

"You  can't  stay  but  just  five  minutes,"  said 
nurse,  "  so  you'd  better  make  the  most  of  it." 

"I'm  a-going  to,  riglit  away,"  said  Ainslee, 
and  nurse  walked  back  to  the  window,  to  escape 
the  rain  which  began. 

"  I'm  in  a  dreadful  storm,"  said  Ainslee. 
"  Baby,  you  pour  water,  so,  right  on  my  head,  an' 
I'll  be  running  home.     I'll  thunder,  too." 

Baby,  who  understood  perfectly,  began  to  pour 
water  from  his  fat  hands,  over  Ainslee's  head, 
fast  as  he  could  scoop  it  up,  while  Ainslee  kicked 
about,  and  roared  in  a  deep  voice. 

"  I  wish  there  was  somebody  to  make  light- 
ning,'' he  said,  stopping  for  breath.  "  I  think 
this  is  a  beautiful  storm." 

"And  I  think  nurse's  eyes  will  make  lightning 
pretty  soon,  if  this  kind  of  thing  lasts,"  said 
grandpa,  who  had  come  softly  up.  "  What  is 
going  on  ?  Don't  you  mean  to  leave  any  water 
in  the  tub?" 

"Nurse  didn't  tell  me  to,"  said  Ainslee.  "  She 
don't  care  much,  I  guess.  She's  first-rate  this 
morning,  'cause  it's  Fourth  o'  July.  Grandpa, 
you  know  what  you  said  you'd  get.'' 


ONE  DAY.  311 

"  Do  I  ?  "  said  grandpa.  "  Well,  after  break- 
fast, perhaps,  I'll  try  and  remember  how  much 
I  know,  and  whether  I've  got  anything;  but 
now  I'm  very  sui'e  I  could  not  tell  one  word 
about  anything,  and  I  must  go  where  grandma 
is,  to  compose  my  mind." 

"  Does  her  head  ache  ?  "  asked  Ainslee,  sud- 
denly remembering  what  mamma  had  said. 
"  'Cause  I  forgot  a  little  about  not  making  much 
noise.  I'll  come  down  quick,  and  stroke  it  for 
her,  if  it  does." 

"  No,  she  feels  better,"  grandpa  answered, 
"  and  she  is  in  the  garden,  looking  at  her  roses." 

"  That's  nice  I  Hurry,  baby !  "  Ainslee  said, 
jumping  into  the  great  towel  nurse  held  for  him. 
"  I'll  rub  myself  real  dry,  nurse,  while  you  do 
baby,  an'  maj^be  you'll  bring  him  right  out." 

"Maybe  your  ma  will,"  nurse  answered.  "  But 
I've  got  to  clear  up  all  this  muss  you've  made. 
There's  water  in  every  corner  of  the  room,  I  do 
believe.  It's  a  blessing  there's  oil-cloth  on  the 
floor,  or  it  would  be  soaking  right  through  into 
your  grandma's  room.  I  never  did  see  such 
children."  And  nurse  went  on,  half  muttering, 
half  laughing  to  herself,  while  Ainslee  rolled 
into  his  clothes  in  mamma's  room,  and  went  out 
to  the  garden. 

Grandma's  plants,   which   in   winter   entirely 


312  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

filled  one  side  of  the  great,  sunny  parlor,  were, 
through  the  warm  weather,  moved  to  the  south 
side  of  the  house,  and  every  morning,  sometimes 
before,  sometimes  after  breakfast,  grandma  spent 
an  hour  or  two  watching  them,  picking  off  dead 
leaves,  and  doing  the  many  little  things  of  which 
one  knows  almost  nothing,  till  they  have  plants 
of  their  own.  Ainslee  stood  still  for  a  moment, 
as  he  reached  grandma,  who  was  standing  by 
her  pet  tea-rose,  on  which  one  delicate,  creamy- 
white  bud  had  half  opened. 

"That's  a  beauty  rose,"  said  he.  "It's  pret- 
tier than  the  pink  ones,  I  do  believe.  Why, 
grandma,  there's  another  speck  of  a  bud,  way 
down   in   the  leaves.     You   didn't   know  it,  did 

you?" 

"  No,  I  didn't,"  said  grandma,  smiling  down 
at  Ainslee.  "  I  didn't  mean  to  pick  this,  because 
I  thought  it  was  the  only  one,  and  it  seemed  al- 
most a  pity  not  to  leave  it  on  the  bush  ;  but  now 
we'll  put  it  in  grandpa's  vase,  with  one  of  the 
pink  ones,  and  some  geranium  leaves,  and  he  Avill 
have  a  good  time  all  day  looking  at  it." 

"I  guess  I'm  glad  I  ain't  going  to  march 
in  the  pecession,"  said  Ainslee,  walking  on  by 
grandma's  side. 

"  What  procession  ?  I  didn't  know  anything 
about  a  procession." 


ONE  DAY.  313 

"  Why,  so  you  didn't,"  Ainslee  said.  "  That 
was  'cause  you  had  a  headache,  an'  I  didn't 
come  into  your  room.  Every  one  o'  the  schools 
is  goin'  to  march,  all  through  the  streets  an' 
everywhere,  with  two  banners,  an'  all  the  girls  in 
white,  maybe,  an'  I  wanted  to.  Mamma  would 
n't  let  me,  'cause  she  said  it  might  be  a  hot  day, 
an'  maybe  I'd  get  a  headache,  walking  an'  walk- 
ing, an'  couldn't  enjoy  myself  a  speck  when  I 
came  home.  I  was  awful  mad  to  think  I  could 
n't,  an'  now  I'm  glad." 

"  Glad  of  what  ? "  said  mamma,  who  came 
around  the  house  with  Bertie  on  her  arm. 

"  Glad  I'm  not  going  to  march,"  said  Ainslee, 
"  'cause  I  feel  just  as  if  something  nice  was  going 
to  happen." 

"Do  you?"  mamma  said,  smiling.  "Well, 
breakfast  is  ready,  and  grandpa  is  standing  in  the 
door,  callincr  to  us.  Bertie  is  comincr  to  the  table 
for  the  first  time,  to-day,  you  know,  and  you  will 
want  to  behave  very  nicely,  because  he  does  all 
that  you  do." 

"  Then  I  can't  gobble  my  bread  and  milk  any 
more,"  said  Ainslee.  "  Grandpa  says  I  gobble  it. 
Do  I,  all  the  time,  mamma  ?  " 

"  No,  not  all  the  time,"  mamma  answered,  as 
they  went  into  the  dining-room ;  "  but  very  of- 
ten, I  am  afraid.  Bertie's  sharp  eyes  will  see 
every  time  you  do  it  now." 


314  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

"  I  'most  wish  he  was  just  as  big  as  me,"  said 
Ainslee,  "  only  then  I  couldn't  hear  him  say  his 
words  so  funny.  Nurse  says  I'm  a  drefFul  ex- 
ample to  him." 

"  That's  because  he  makes  so  much  more  noise 
when  you're  at  home,"  grandma  said,  as  they  all 
sat  down.  "  I  believe  you  make  more  noise  than 
all  your  uncles  put  together." 

"  I  don't  make  it  all,"  said  Ainslee,  going  on 
with  his  breakfast.  "  Some  of  it  makes  itself.  I 
can't  help  hollering  a  little  bit,  grandma,  'cause 
I  feel  so  good  'most  all  the  time." 

"  Don't  stop  the  boy,"  said  grandpa.  "  There 
are  days  when  I  should  like  to  '  holler  '  myself,  if 
it  were  not  so  very  improper,  and  this  is  one  of 
them.  What  are  you  letting  Bertie  do,  my  dear  ?  " 

Mamma  turned,  and  so  did  they  all,  to  Bertie, 
who,  tired  of  trying  to  hold  his  spoon  as  mamma 
had  shown  him  how  to  do,  had  taken  the  oppor- 
tunity, when  she  was  not  looking,  to  turn  it  up- 
side down  on  his  head,  and  was  now  winking 
away  the  drops  of  milk  which  ran  down  over  his 
eye. 

"  I  didn't  show  him  how  to  do  ^/ta^,"  said 
Ainslee.  "  I  don't  believe  I  ever  put  my  bread 
and  milk  on  my  head,  mamma." 

"  Yes  you  did,  and  worse  than  that,"  said 
mamma,  as  she  wiped  Bertie's  hands  and  face,  and 


ONE  DAY.  315 

went  on  feeding  him  herself.  "  Why,  father, 
there  is  Dr.  Sumner  now  !  Did  you  think  he 
would  he  here  so  early  ?  " 

Grandpa  got  up  hastily  from  the  table,  and 
went  into  the  hall,  returning  in  a  moment  with  a 
very  tall  gentleman,  who  shook  hands  with  every 
one,  and  sat  down  at  once  by  mamma. 

"  Just  in  time,  just  in  time,"  he  said.  "  I  rode 
over  before  all  the  popping  and  whizzing  began, 
for  I  didn't  want  my  neck  broken  ;  and  if  there 
is  any  one  thing  above  another  that  Sally  won't 
stand,  it's  a  fire-cracker.  I  told  Culligan  to  put 
her  in  the  darkest  corner  of  the  barn,  and  if  she 
has  cotton  in  her  ears  she  will  not  get  nervous 
through  the  day,  and  I  shall  have  a  surer  chance 
of  getting  home  alive  to-morrow.  Who  are  you  ?  " 
he  added,  turning  so  suddenly  that  Ainslee 
dropped  his  knife  and  fork,  and  could  not  in 
the  least  tell  what  ought  to  be  said  to  this  very 
strange  man. 

"  My  oldest  boy,"  said  mamma,  helping  him 
out.     "  And  here  is  my  youngest." 

'"  Yours  !  "  said  Dr.  Sumner,  so  loudly,  that 
Ainslee  jumped.  "  Nonsense  !  day  before  yes- 
terday I  carried  you  round  the  garden  on  my 
back.     Fiddlesticks  !  they're  not  yours  !  " 

"  We  are,"  said  Ainslee,  turning  very  red,  and 
standing  up.     "  My  mamma  don't  tell  stories." 


316  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

"  Doesn't  she  ?  "  said  Dr.  Sumner.  "  Well,  I 
don't  believe  she  does  ;  but  what  in  the  world 
have  I  been  about  ?  Certainly  I  did  carry  her 
on  my  back  not  so  long  ago,  just  as  I  shall  prob- 
ably carry  you  after  breakfast.  Don't  you  know 
who  I  am?  " 

"  He  very  soon  will,"  said  mamma,  laughing. 
"I  have  known  Dr.  Sumner  ever  since  I  was  a 
very  little  girl,  Ainslee,  and  that  does  not  seem 
long  to  me,  or  to  him  either." 

"  Long  ?  "  repeated  the  Doctor,  going  on  with 
his  breakfast.  "  Why,  it  isn't  long  ago  since 
grandpa  there,  and  I,  were  playing  tag  and  foot- 
ball, in  his  flither's  back-yard.  Foot-ball  !  Look 
at  that  foot,  and  see  if  it  has  much  notion  of  foot- 
ball in  it  now,"  and  the  Doctor  stretched  out  a 
loncT  leo;  endino;  in  almost  as  lono;  a  boot,  which 
seemed  to  have  a  white  patch  on  the  end. 

"See  there,  sir,"  he  went  on,  to  Ainslee,  who 
had  walked  around  the  table  to  see  what  it  meant. 
"That  is  what  you  are  coming  to,  by  and  by. 
Perfectly  new,  I  assure  you,  Mrs.  Walton,  and 
I  did  think  I  should  get  through  the  day  in  them. 
But  one  twinge,  as  I  rode  along,  decided  me.  I 
have  not  seen  my  old  friend  for  six  years,  I  said. 
Shall  new  boots  stand  between  me  and  the  joy- 
fulness  of  my  day  with  him  ?  Never  !  and  I  cut 
with  my  pocket- knife,  madam,  just  such  a  hole, 


ONE  DAY.  317 

as,  I  grieve  to  say,  you  •vvill  find  in  every  pair 
of  boots  I  own." 

"  What  for  ?  "  asked  Ainslee,  still  amazed. 

"  Corns,  my  boy  ;  everything  yields  to  corns." 

"  Grandma's  got  one,  an'  I  hurt  her  some- 
times, stepping  on  it,"  said  Ainslee.  "  But  she 
doesn't  cut  a  hole  in  her  shoe." 

"I  do,"  said  the  Doctor,  rising  with  the  rest. 
"  Now,  Walton,  one  look  at  Sally,  and  then  the 
old  arbor,  if  you  please,  and  a  cigar  and  a  talk." 

"Who  is  Sally?"  said  Ainslee,  who  had 
wanted  to  follow,  but  was  held  back  by  mamma. 

"A  little  brown  mare,"  she  answered,  "no- 
body knows  how  many  years  old,  and  which  Dr. 
Sumner  thinks,  or  pretends  to  think,  is  very 
frisky  and  unsafe  to  ride." 

"Who  is  he?  where  did  lie  come  from?" 
Ainslee  went  on. 

"  He  is  a  very  dear  old  friend  of  grandpa's," 
said  mamma,  "and  indeed,  of  all  of  us.  He  used 
to  be  a  professor  in  a  college,  but  ever  since  you 
were  born,  he  has  been  in  Europe  and  the  Holy 
Land ;  almost  all  over  the  world  in  fact,  and 
only  came  home  a  week  or  two  since.  You  will 
see  him  often  now,  for  he  lives  near  Uncle  John's 
house,  and  he  comes  here  a  great  deal." 

"Has  he  got  any  little  boys  and  girls?"  said 
Ainslee. 


318  THE   AINSLEE   STORIES. 

"  Not  one,"  mamma  answered.  "  He  has 
never  been  married.  Some  day  I  will  tell  you 
more  about  him.  You  will  like  liim  dearly  by 
and  by,  for  he  is  very  good  as  well  as  veiy  queer. 
There,  he  is  caUing  you  now.     Run." 

Ainslee  ran  out,  to  find  him  standing  in  the 
summer-house. 

"  Grandpa  has  gone  in  for  a  few  moments," 
he  said.  "  Did  you  know  that  every  one  of 
your  uncles  and  aunts  have  ridden  round  the 
garden  on  these  very  shoulders,  exactly  as  you 
are  going  to  do  this  minute  ?  "  and  Ainslee  all  at 
once  found  himself  swung  up  to  these  broad 
shoulders,  and  trottino;  in  and  out  amono;  the 
flower-beds,  as  if  each  winding  path  were  known 
by  heart.  He  hardly  knew  whether  to  be  pleased 
or  not ;  but  the  grave  face,  which  grew  quite  red 
and  perspiry  in  the  work,  was  a  kindly  one,  and 
he  made  up  his  mind,  when  finally  j)ut  down,  and 
looked  at  by  a  pair  of  very  keen  eyes,  that  here 
was  somebody  he  should  soon  like  just  as  much 
as  mamma  had  said. 

"  I  wish  you'd  let  me  see  Sally,"  he  said. 

"  If  you  are  very  sure  your  pockets  are  not 
full  of  fire-crackers  and  torpedoes,"  said  the  Doc- 
tor, "  and  that  one  will  not  go  off  in  the  barn." 

"  Torpedoes  !  "  said  Ainslee.  "  Why,  I'd  for- 
gotted  it  was  Fourth  o'  July  ;  but  I  haven't  got 


ONE  DAY.  319 

any  torpedoes.  Grandpa  was  goin'  to  get  some, 
an'  I  didn't  ask  him  for  'em.  Why !  but  yes  I 
have,"  he  went  on ;  for,  putting  a  hand  in  his 
pocket,  it  touched  something,  which,  on  being 
pulled  out,  certainly  was  a  package  of  torpedoes. 

"  I  didn't  put  'em  there,"  he  said,  looking  with 
surprise  at  his  hand.  "  I  guess  mamma  must 
have,  in  the  night  maybe,  or  else  it  was  grand- 
pa." 

"  There  comes  grandpa  noM%"  said  the  Doctor, 
with  a  little  twinkle  in  his  eyes.  "  You  can  ask 
him,  and  in  the  mean  time  I'll  empty  my  pock- 
ets." 

"You  did  it !  You  did  it !  "  said  Ainslee,  who 
had  seen  the  twinkle,  and  who  looked  with  great 
curiosity  at  a  small  box  which  had  come  out  of 
the  pocket.     "  What  have  you  got  in  that  box  ?  " 

"  Plague,  pestilence,  and  famine  ;  general  mis- 
ery and  particular  muss,"  said  the  Doctor,  unty- 
ing the  string.  "  I  mean  I've  got  something 
which,  when  alive,  represents  all  this,  and  much 
more  of  the  same  sort.  They  are  soldiers,  my 
boy.  Nothing  but  Avood,  but  about  as  useful  as 
the  real  article.  Now,  very  soon  I'll  show  you 
a  game,  only,  as  there  is  nobody  but  me  to  play 
with  yob,  it  will  not  be  as  nice  as  it  might  be." 

"  You're  nice  enough,"  said  Ainslee :  "  but 
there's  Sinny  coming  now,  and  Tommy  Martin 


320  THE  AINSLEE   STORIES. 

too.     I  forgot  we  were  all  going  to  fire  off  our 
fire-crackers  together." 

"Which  is  Sinny — the  black  or  the  white 
boy  ? "  asked  Dr.  Sumner,  looking  sharply  at 
both  boys  as  they  came  in  at  the  gate. 

"Why,  the  black  one,"  said  Ainslee,  surprised 
that  everybody  did  not  know  who  Sinny  was, 
and  doubtful  whether  to  run  and  meet  them,  or 
stay  where  he  was.  The  Doctor  settled  the 
question  by  calling,  "  Come  boys  !  "  and  Tommy 
and  Sinny  walked  forward,  a  little  afraid  of  the 
tall  stranger,  and  yet  curious  to  know  all  about 
the  red  soldiers  in  the  box. 

"  Where'd  you  get  'em  ?  "  Sinny  whispered. 

"  I  didn't  get  'em ;  he  did,"  Ainslee  an- 
swered. "  An'  we're  going  to  play  with  'em,  I 
guess." 

"  Tell  me,  first,  why  you  keep  Fourth  of 
July  ?  "  said  the  Doctor,  "  and  then  have  your 
play." 

*'  'Cause  everybody  does,"  said  Tommy. 

"  'Cause  the  cannons  fire,"  said  Ainslee. 

"  I  know  some,  only  I  can't  tell,"  said  Sinny. 

"  Then  you  don't  know,"  said  Dr.  Sumner. 
"  Nobody  knows  anything  perfectly,  till  they  can 
put  it  into  words  which  will  tell  it  plainly  to 
somebody  else.  Now,  try  and  see  what  you  can 
do." 


ONE  DAY.  321 

"  Once,"  said  Sinny,  very  slowly,  while  Ains- 
lee  and  Tommy  listened  attentively, —  "once 
we  wasn't  free  a  bit,  and  a  king  made  us  do 
everything  he  was  a  mind  to,  an'  we  didn't 
have  anything  our  own  way.  Pretty  soon  we 
got  tired  o'  this,  an'  said  we  wouldn't  have  sich 
work,  an'  a  lot  o'  men  got  together,  an'  wrote  a 
letter,  an'  said  in  it,  they  wouldn't  stand  it  any 
longer,  an'  they'd  fight  every  minute,  unless  the 
king  behaved  better.  The  king  wouldn't ;  an'  he 
sent  a  lot  o'  soldiers  over,  an'  we  kept  a-fightin', 
an'  licked  'em  awful,  so't  they  all  went  home 
as  fast  as  they  could  ;  an'  ever  since  then  we've 
kep'  Fourth  o'  July." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Dr.  Sumner,  not  smiling  a 
bit.  "  But  you  haven't  told  me  yet,  exactly, 
why  it  is  Fourth  of  July  we  keep.  Why  would 
n't  the  fourth  of  June  do  as  well  ?  " 

"  Oh,  'cause,  I  know  now,"  said  Sinny.  "  They 
wrote  the  letter  Fourth  o'  July.  Gran'ther  said 
so.  I  asked  him  this  morning,  an'  he  told  me  all 
what  I  told  you." 

"  Pretty  nearly  right,"  said  the  Doctor.  "  You 
know  about  all  that  such  small  people  as  you 
need  know  just  yet.  Perhaps,  when  another 
year  comes,  you  can  understand  more  fully  what 
a  great  day  it  really  is,  even  if  there  were  not  a 
bell  rung,  or  a  cannon  fired,  or  a  fire -cracker  set 

21 


322  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

off.  Gunpowder  doesn't  help  it  in  the  least. 
Now,  I  '11  show  you  what  to  do  with  these  fel- 
lows. Where  is  the  sawdust,  Ainslee  ?  in  the 
wood-house  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Ainslee,  running  to  keep  up  with 
the  Doctor's  long  steps.  All  three  stood  still  and 
watched  him,  while  he  poured  sawdust  from  the 
barrel,  and  mixed  it  with  a  little  water  which 
Sinny  brought,  till  by  and  by  there  was  quite  a  hill. 

"  Now,"  said  he,  "  you  might  as  well  use  your 
crackers  and  toi'pedoes  to  some  purpose,  as  waste 
them  firing  at  nothing.  You  see  all  these  sol- 
diers are  painted  red.  The  English,  who  came 
over  long  ago,  to  '  make  us  mind,'  as  Sinny 
says,  all  wore  red  coats  too.  We  were  so  poor, 
then,  that  a  good  many  of  us  had  no  coats 
at  all ;  but  for  all  that,  there  was  one  battle 
among  the  first,  —  the  battle  of  Bunker  Hill,  — 
from  which  we  sent  the  redcoats  flying.  I've 
made  a  hill  for  you,  and  now  put  the  soldiers 
down  on  it  just  where  you  like.  There  are 
forty  of  them,  and  sticking  them  into  the  saw- 
dust a  little  way,  they  stand  quite  firmly.  Now, 
you  are  all  Yankees,  fighting  for  your  freedom, 
remember,  and  here  is  a  pop-gun  for  each  of 
you.     I'll  show  you  how." 

Out  of  the  same  pocket  came  three  little  play- 
pistols,  and  the  Doctor,  putting  a  torpedo  in  one, 


ONE  DAY.  323 

took  aim  at  a  soldier  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill, 
and  fired.  The  torpedo  went  off,  and  so  did  the 
soldier,  which  tumbled  heels  over  head  at  once. 

"  Ain't  it  fun  ?  "  said  Ainslee.  "  Do  give  me 
a  gun  right  away." 

Tommy  and  Sinny  took  theirs,  and  the  little 
package  of  torpedoes  which  came  from  the  same 
wonderful  pocket,  and  then  the  Doctor  stood  still 
and  watched  a  moment,  while  the  three  fired 
without  hitting  anything,  walking  away  as  he 
heard  grandpa  call.  The  game  grew  exciting. 
It  was  so  easy  not  to  hit,  and  so  hard  to  tumble 
a  redcoat  nicely  over.  Charlie  and  Jo  Stearns 
came  in  presently,  and  took  turns  at  once,  till 
all  the  torpedoes  were  gone,  and  yet  not  more 
than  half  the  redcoats  down. 

"  We've  got  to  take  fire-crackers  now,"  said 
Ainslee,  "  and  that  won't  be  half  as  nice." 

"  I  tell  you  what,"  said  Tommy.  "  Let's  put 
a  whole  string  of  fire-crackers  all  round  'em,  and 
set  'em  off  to  once.  Maybe  some  of  'em  will 
tumble  down." 

"  Well,"  said  Ainslee,  beginning  to  pull  from 
his  pack,  and  all  made  a  circle  about  the  rest  of 
the  British  army,  two  or  three  crackers  deep, 
and  then  put  a  match  to  the  top  one. 

Fiz-z-z  !  splutter!  bang!  went  one  after  an- 
other ;  and  when  the  smoke  cleared  away,  not 


324  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

only  every  redcoat  lay  flat,  but  part  of  Bunker 
Hill  had  gone  too. 

"  Two  of  'em  hasn't  got  any  arms  left,"  said 
Sinny,  as  they  picked  up  the  soldiers ;  "  an' 
three  are  without  any  legs.  What'll  we  do 
with  'em  ?  " 

"  Mend  'em  sometime,  maybe,"  said  Ainslee, 
"  I  can't  now,  though,  for  I'm  hungry.  I 
guess  it's  'most  dinner-time." 

"  Then  I've  got  to  run,"  said  Tommy. 
"  What  you  goin'  to  do  this  afternoon  ? " 

"  Goin'  to  walk  with  mamma  an'  all  of  'em," 
Ainslee  answered  ;  "  an'  this  evening,  you're  all 
coming  to  see  fire-works,  you  know." 

"  Bully !  "  said  Tommy,  starting  off  with  the 
rest ;  and  Ainslee  ran  in  to  tell  mamma  about 
the  five  soldiers  he  had  shot  down  himself,  and 
to  see  if  dinner  were  ready.  In  the  parlor  ]Mr. 
Parker  was  sitting  talking  with  grandpa  and  Dr. 
Sumner,  and  mamma  sat  by  the  window  sewing. 

"All  through  playing,  Ainslee?"  said  she. 
"  A-^ery  soon  we  shall  start,  and  you  had  better 
go  and  wash  your  face  and  hands  now,  while 
nurse  is  up-stairs." 

"  Start  where  ?  "  said  Ainslee.  "  I'm  dreflful 
hungry.     Sha'n't  we  have  dinner  first  ?  " 

"  How  would  you  like  to  eat  it  in  the  woods 
back  of  the  mill-pond,  where  we  went  for  vio- 
lets ?  "  mamma  said. 


ONE   DAY.  325 

"  Oil,  oh  !  "  Ainslee  shouted.  "  And  sit  on 
the  ground,  and  everything?  I  wish  we  were 
there  this  minute." 

"  Hurry,  then,"  said  mamma  ;  and  Ainslee 
danced  up-stairs,  to  find  nurse  in  her  sun-bonnet, 
putting  on  Bertie's  hat  and  sack. 

"  Every  one  of  us  a-going !  "  said  he.  "  Ain't 
I  glad  I  didn't  march  ?  " 

"  Your  ma  knows  what's  best,  I  guess,"  said 
nurse,  "  an'  she  ain't  likely  to  say  '  no '  to  any- 
thing you  want,  unless  it's  something  you've  no 
business  to  do,  anyway." 

"  Is  Ann  going  too  ?  "  Ainslee  asked,  passing 
over  the  little  lecture.  "  I  saw  a  big  basket  in 
the  kitchen.     Is  she  going  to  carry  it  ?  " 

"No;  it's  pretty  heavy,"  nurse  answered. 
"  Culligan  's  goin'  to  take  it,  and  maybe  come  for 
it.  Now  run  along.  Ann  and  me  are  coming 
bymeby. " 

All  were  in  the  hall  when  Ainslee  went  down, 
even  grandma,  who  hardly  ever  walked  very 
much,  and  grandpa  locked  the  front-door  and  put 
the  big  key  in  his  pocket.  "  Nurse  will  see  to 
the  back-door,"  he  said.  "  Now,  friends,  march 
on." 

"  Eyes  right,"  said  Dr.  Sumner,  shouldering 
his  cane.  "  Eyes  right,  coat-tails  left,"  as  a  step 
forward  showed  the  fact  that  grandpa  had  locked 


326  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

one  of  his  in  a  little  bit,  but  so  firmly,  that  the 
door  had  to  be  unlocked  before  it  would  come 
out. 

How  thev  all  laughed,  and  what  a  merry  party 
it  was,  that  went  on  over  the  old  road,  past  Sugar 
Loaf,  and  on  to  the  mill-pond.  One  point  ran 
out  some  little  distance ;  a  smooth  green  bank, 
from  which  rose  up,  tall  and  stately,  one  great 
elm,  and  under  it  Mr.  Parker  stopped  a  mo- 
ment, and  lifted  his  hat  to  meet  the  sweet  air, 
which  seemed  to  come  fresh  from  the  mountain 
side. 

"  Here  is  the  place,"  he  said.  "  The  woods 
are  good,  if  one  wants  only  green  leaves,  and 
flowers,  and  moss ;  but  to-day  the  eyes  must  be 
filled,  and  all  that  lake,  and  mountain,  and  sky 
can  give,  we  will  have." 

"  Right,"  Dr.  Sumner  said,  sitting  down  at 
once  on  a  log,  which  seemed  to  have  been  put  in 
just  the  right  place  for  one  to  see  all  that  could 
be  seen.  "  Mrs.  Walton,  you  will  never  take 
cold  here,  as  you  certainly  would  if  you  went 
one  step  further.  Allow  me,"  and  grandma 
found  herself  suddenly  with  bonnet  off,  and  on 
the  same  log  with  the  Doctor. 

"  But  I  didn't  wear  my  cap. '  I  wasn't  going 
to  take  my  bonnet  off,"  said  she.  "  Mercy  on  us ! 
how  I  must  look  !     Give  me  my  bonnet." 


ONE  DAY.  327 

"  Never  mind  how  you  look,  madam,"  said  Dr. 
Sumner,  hanging  tlie  bonnet  quite  out  of  her 
reach,  on  a  Uttle  branch  of  the  elm.  "  You  look 
well  enough.  All  you  have  to  do  is  to  attend  to 
Nature,  and  let  your  bonnet  alone.  Walton, 
there  is  no  fairer  spot  than  this  in  all  the  wide 
world  I  have  seen.  Ainslee,  come  here.  Fifty 
years  ago  I  saw  this  elm  a  sapling,  and  now  what 
a  great  tree  it  is.  There's  the  very  place  your 
grandfather  and  I  swam  across,  just  above  the 
dam,  only  there  was  no  dam  then,  and  the  water 
poured  down  over  the  rocks,  just  as  you  see  it  in 
the  mill  stream  beyond." 

"  It's  a  good  ways  across,"  said  Ainslee,  won- 
dermg  when  he  would  be  big  enough  to  swim  too. 
"  It's  five  miles,  I  guess." 

"  Not  quite,"  said  Dr.  Sumner.  "  It  is  nearly 
half  a  mile,  though,  and  that  was  a  long  swim ; 
I  was  almost  twelve,  and  grandpa  almost  four- 
teen ;  and  he  bet  me  his  knife  he'd  get  across 
first.  He  didn't,  though ;  and  when  you  come  to 
my  house,  I'll  show  you  the  knife." 

"  Did  you  keep  it  so  long  ?  "  Ainslee  said. 

"  I  never  lose  anything  but  my  wits,  some- 
times," said  the  Doctor.     "  Do  you  ?  " 

Ainslee  preferred  not  to  answer  this  question ; 
and  as  Mr.  Parker  spoke  just  then,  shpped  away, 
and  went  down  to  the  edge  of  the  pond  to  watch 


328  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

the  shiners,  and  pick  up  the  very  smallest  white 
and  yellow  stones,  such  as  were  found  nowhere 
else.  Going  back  after  a  time,  he  found  that 
Cullioan  had  come  with  the  basket,  and  mamma 
was  busy  taking  out  the  various  things,  and  put- 
ting them  on  a  white  cloth  she  had  spread  on  the 
grass.  At  the  edge  of  the  woods,  nurse  and  Ann 
were  walking  with  Bertie,  and  Ainslee  had  plenty 
to  do,  running  back  and  forth,  till  the  luncheon 
was  ready,  and  every  one  sat  down  on  the  grass, 
and  ate  cold  chicken  and  bread  and  butter.  The 
sound  of  fire-crackers  came  now  and  then  from 
the  houses  beyond  the  turn,  and  the  echo  of  guns 
from  the  village,  just  enough  to  remind  them  of 
the  day,  yet  not  enough  to  distract  or  annoy  ;  and 
Ainslee,  hungry  and  happy,  sat  leaning  against 
the  elm,  taking  in,  almost  unconsciously,  the 
beauty,  which  in  time  to  come,  would  seem  to 
him  fresher  and  fairer  with  each  passing  year. 

By  and  by  Ann  and  nurse  came,  to  gather  up 
the  dishes,  and  take  their  own  luncheon  to  the 
wood-  Dr.  Sumner  and  grandpa  talked  earnestly, 
while  grandma  listened.  Mamma  took  Bertie 
down  the  bank,  and  watched  him  playing  in  the 
sand  for  a  time  ;  and  Mr.  Parker,  sitting  under 
the  elm,  told  Ainslee  a  story  called  "  The  Pine 
Tree,"  which  he  had  read  in  a  book  Cousin 
Grace  had  sent  him.     "  Dream  Childi'en  "  was  its 


ONE  DAY.  329 

name,  and  Ainslee  had  already  heard  three  or 
four  of  the  sweet  stories  in  it,  and  was  alway 
asking  for  more,  just  as  jou  would  do,  little 
people,  if  it  lay  on  the  table,  and  you  could  not 
run  away  with  it  yourselves,  into  some  quiet 
corner,  and  have  a  good  time  all  alone. 

"  Three  o'clock  and  after,"  said  Mr.  Parker 
presently,  taking  out  his  watch.  "  I  must  be  at 
home  by  five,  for  some  one  is  coming." 

"  Yes,  some  one  is  coming,"  said  a  A^oice,  and 
Mr.  Pai'ker  turned  very  quickly,  and  sprang  to 
his  feet. 

"  Grace,  why  Grace,  where  did  you  drop 
from  ? "  said  mamma,  catching  up  Bertie,  and 
running  up  the  bank.  "  How  glad  I  am  to  see 
you!" 

"  Not  exactly  from  the  clouds,  but  from  the 
Falls,"  said  Cousin  Grace,  as  she  kissed  grandma 
and  then  grandpa,  and  tried  to  return  Ainslee's 
hug,  and  shake  liands  with  Mr.  Parker,  and  kiss 
mamma,  all  at  once.  "  I  stayed  there  last  night, 
but  they  are  having  such  a  remarkable  celebra- 
tion, that  I  concluded  it  was  too  much  for  me, 
and  so  left  for  Windsor  in  the  one  o'clock  train, 
to  find  you  all  gone  when  I  got  up  to  the  house. 
Mrs.  Culligan  was  keeping  guard  in  the  back- 
kitchen,  and  told  me  where  you  all  were,  so  I 
came  on  at  once.  Don't  go  home  yet.  How 
can  you?    It  is  too  lovely  here." 


330  THE   AINSLEE  STORIES. 

"  Nobody  wants  to  go  home  but  Mr.  Parker," 
said  grandpa,  "  and  he  may  go  directly.  We 
mean  to  stay  a  little  longer.  Good-by,  Mr.  Par- 
ker.    We  shall  see  you  this  evening." 

"  And  for  the  present  too,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Par- 
ker, laughing  a  little,  and  sitting  down  by  Cousin 
Grace.  "  Randy  will  attend  to  my  interests  in 
the  village  ;  and  if  she  does  not,  let  them  take 
care  of  themselves." 

"  Half  an  hour  longer,  then,"  said  grandpa, 
turning  to  Dr.  Sumner  again  ;  but  the  half-hour 
slid  into  an  hour,  before  anybody  knew  it ;  even 
then  grandma  said,  though  slie  hadn't  done  suck 
a  thing  for  years,  she  was  almost  a  mind  to  stay 
and  see  the  sun  set. 

"  I  wish  we  could,"  said  grandpa.  "  But  you 
remember  the  train  gets  in  a  little  after  seven, 
and  we  must  not  be  away." 

Ainslee  caught  only  a  word  or  two  of  this,  and 
was  too  busy,  holding  the  very  smallest  of  small 
sreen  frogs,  to  think  what  it  might  mean. 

"  I'm  going  to  take  him  home,"  he  said,  "and 
keep  him  just  a  little  while,  'cause  his  throat's 
so  yellow  ;  "  and  he  wrapped  him  in  a  large  leaf, 
and  walked  on,  watching  the  kicks  and  plunges 
of  the  two  hind-legs,  which  the  leaf  did  not 
cover.  It  was  almost  dark  when  they  all  went 
in  at  grandpa's  gate  ;  and  Sinny,  and  Tommy, 


ONE  DAY.  331 

and  Amanda,  and  two  or  three  more  of  Ainslee's 
special  playmates,  were  sitting  on  the  door-step, 
waiting  for  him.  Ainslee,  who  had  found  out  in 
the  course  of  the  day,  how  much  grandpa  knew, 
and  what  he  had  got,  had  quite  a  whispering 
time  with  Tommy,  which  ended  in  everybody 
being  invited  to  the  wood-house,  where,  hav- 
ing put  the  frog  into  the  Aquarium,  he  pulled  out 
an  empty  barrel,  and  set  it  up  near  the  door. 
Mamma  called  just  then,  and  Ainslee  went  to 
her,  coming  back  in  a  moment. 

"  Mamma  says  we  won't  have  a  real  tea  to- 
night," he  said,  "  'cause  pretty  soon,  bymeby, 
there's  going  to  be  ice-cream ;  but  you're  all  to 
come  into  the  kitchen  a  minute,  an'  have  a  piece 
of  cake,  an'  then  come  out  again." 

Mamma's  piece  of  cake  proved  to  be  a  sandwich 
and  tivo  pieces  of  cake,  which  they  all  ate  stand- 
ing about  the  kitchen,  and  then  ran  out  again. 
Gi'andpa  was  there  now ;  and  after  more  whis- 
pering, a  rocket  suddenly  whirled  up,  and  a  snake 
whizzed  and  sputtered  through  the  grass  ;  and 
then  came  some  Catherine-wheels  and  Roman 
candles,  which  Ainslee  held  in  his  hand  as  he 
stood  on  the  flour  barrel  he  had  pulled  from  the 
wood-shed.  Not  very  much  to  such  of  you  as 
can  see  beautiful  fire-works  every  Fourth  of  July, 
but  a  wonderful  sight  to  these  country  children. 


332  THE   AINSLEE  STORIES. 

wlio,  perhaps,  had  never  looked  at  any  before. 
Soon  the  hist  star  in  the  last  Roman  candle  faded 
awav,  and  as  Ainslee  jumped  down,  a  shout  went 
up  from  all  the  children. 

"  Now  somebody  make  a  speech  !  somebody 
ought  to  make  a  speech  !  "  Tommy  called.  "You, 
Ainslee  !  " 

"  In  a  minute,"  said  Ainslee,  as  a  great  blaze 
shot  up  from  an  old  tar  barrel  that  grandpa  had 
lighted. 

"  Put  him  on  the  barrel  again  !  Put  him  on 
the  barrel,"  said  Sinny. 

Grandpa  lifted  Ainslee  to  it,  and  stepped  back, 
saying  he  should  have  a  dreadful  cold  unless  he 
went  right  in.  Left  quite  to  himself,  as  he  sup- 
posed, —  no  big  people  to  be  seen,  —  Ainslee 
stood  up  very  straight,  and  began  in  a  loud 
voice,  — 

"  My  brethren,"  — 

"You  mustn't  say  'my  brethren,'"  Sinny 
interrupted.     "  'Tain't  meeting." 

"  My  brethren,"  Ainslee  went  on,  not  minding 
him,  "  I've  had  a  first-rate  Fourth  o'  July  an'  I 
hope  you  have  too  ;  an'  pretty  soon,  Avhen  you've 
eaten  all  your  ice-cream,  you'll  go  home  an'  tell 
your  fathers  an'  mothers  a'Ou  wish  it  was  Fourth 
o'  July  all  the  time;  an'  I  hope  we're  goin' 
to    mind  everybodv  we  ought'er,  all    the    time. 


ONE   DAY.  333 

even  Miss  Barrett,  an'  not  care  if  we  can't  walk 
in  a  pecession  ;  an'  I  don't  think  I  can  think  of 
anything  more,  my  brethren,  so  I  guess  I'll  get 
down." 

A  voice  from  somewhere,  said  "  Bravo  !  "  and 
a  great  clapping  of  hands  was  heard,  for  the  big 
people  had  been  listening,  every  one  of  them. 
"  Bravo  !  "  cried  the  voice  again  ;  and  Ainslee, 
who  had  stood  very  still  for  just  one  moment, 
sprang  from  the  barrel  into  two  arms  that  were 
very  ready  to  catch  and  hold  him  tight. 

"  Papa  !  "  was  all  he  said,  and  then  why  was  it 
that  he  began  to  cry  ?  I  do  not  know,  unless  it 
is,  that  all  of  us,  when  too  full  of  gladness,  do  al- 
most always  cry  just  a  little  bit.  Mamm.a  was  cry- 
ing too,  for  the  same  reason,  I  suppose  ;  and  after 
the  first  greetings  wei'e  over,  the  ice-cream  eaten, 
and  the  children  gone  away,  there  were  a  few 
more  very,  very  happy  tears,  as  grandpa,  in  his 
evening  prayer,  thanked  God,  that  one  who  had 
been  long  away,  had,  in  His  Infinite  Love,  been 
brought  safely  home. 


XIX. 

POP. 

Papa  had  been  at  home  a  fortnight,  the  days 
of  which  went  by  more  swiftly  to  Ainslee  than 
days  had  ever  gone  before.  Even  school  had 
lost  its  charm,  and  he  grudged  every  moment  not 
spent  near  papa,  who  in  turn  seemed  well  content 
to  be  very  near  mamma  and  his  little  boys,  and 
walked  and  talked  Avith  them  all  the  day  long. 
The  "  Dezamination  "  you  have  heard  about  from 
Ainslee,  was  almost  at  hand.  One  week  more, 
and  then  the  great  day,  when  the  Committee- 
men, and  all  the  fathers  and  mothers  would  come 
together,  and  listen  for  a  whole  morning  to  read- 
ing and  spelling,  and  the  pieces  some  of  the  chil- 
dren were  to  speak. 

Papa  had  promised  to  go  with  mamma,  and 
grandma  and  grandpa  said  "  perhaps,"  when 
Ainslee  told  them  what  a  nice  time  they  would 
be  sure  to  have.  Every  day  he  learned  two 
verses  of  a  little  poem  called  Casablanca,  which 
grandma  liked  very  much  indeed,  and  had  begun 
to  teach  him  in  little  bits  a  vear  or  two  before. 


POP.  335 

It  tells  the  true  story  of  a  wonderfully  brave 
little  boy,  in  a  very  sweet  and  simj^le  way,  and 
almost  all  of  you  can  read  it,  or  hear  it  read,  by 
looking  up  Mrs,  Hemans's  Poems,  which  your 
mothers  will  be  almost  sure  to  have,  among  the 
books  which  they  owned  when  they  were  girls. 
I  remember  crying  over  it,  when  veiy  small 
indeed :  so  small,  that  grandpa  had  to  pronounce 
for  me  some  of  the  longer  words  as  I  spelled 
them,  till  many  readings  had  fixed  the  lines  so 
firmly  in  my  mind,  that  I  am  not  likely  to  forget 
them,  even   when   an  old,   old  woman. 

Every  evening  Ainslee  repeated  all  he  knew 
of  it  to  his  father,  and  at  almost  any  time  of  day 
after  school,  you  could  hear  him  shouting  out  one 
verse  or  another,  in  the  garden  or  meadow,  till 
old  CulHgan  took  to  saying, "  The  boy,  oh  where 
was  he  ?  "  when  he  wanted  Ainslee  ;  and  nurse 
said,  "  she  wislied  the  poetry  had  blowed  up 
along  with  the  ship,  she  was  so  tired  of  hearing 
it." 

School  was  to  close  on  Wednesday,  and  to-day 
it  was  Saturday,  the  last  play-day  before  vacation, 
and  papa  and  mamma,  with  Ainslee  and  Bertie, 
were  to  drive  over  to  Uncle  John's,  and  stay  over 
Sunday,  coming  back  early  Monday  morning  in 
time  for  sciiool.  Not  a  long  drive,  for  they  lived 
only  five  or  six  miles  away,  and  saw  grandpa's 


336  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

family  often,  so  that  tliough  I  have  not  told  you 
about  it,  Lizzie  and  little  John  knew  just  how 
the  beans  were  coming  on  in  Ainslee's  garden, 
and  indeed  had  helped  pull  up  all  the  weeds 
among  them,  not  long  before  papa  came  home. 

Ainslee  sat  down  on  the  back  door-step,  a 
minute  or  two,  when  all  ready  for  a  start,  and 
then  ran  out  to  the  garden  for  one  more  look  at 
his  vegetables,  in  order  that  he  might  tell  Lizzie 
whether  the  bean  pods  had  begun  to  fill,  and 
how  soon  they  were  likely  to  have  the  succotash 
party.  The  barn  doors  were  wide  open,  and 
Culligan  was  leading  out  Peter,  the  old  white 
horse.  '.^^^ 

"  Pete's  so  slow  !  "  Ainslee  called,  "  we  wo.n't 
ever  get  there.     Why  don't  we  have  Prince  ?  " 

"  'Cause  your  pa  said  Pete,"  Culligan  an- 
swered, backing  him  between  the  shafts.  "  He'll 
be  goin'  fast  enough  for  your  pa." 

"  Pie  Avon't  go  fast  for  anybody,"  Ainslee  said, 
leaning  over  the  garden  fence,  and  then  squeez- 
ing through  a  place  where  a  picket  had  come  off. 

"  Wull,  your  ma'd  ruther  ride  slow,"  said 
Culligan,  "  for  she  said  to  me,  she  were  never 
tired  observin'  the  looks  o'  things,  an'  I  belicA^e 
since  that  she  isn't,  though  it's  she  that's  seen  'em 
over  an'  over." 

Mamma  came    out  just   then    with   papa   and 


POP.  337 

Bertie,  and  grandma  followed  to  see  tliem  nicely 
started. 

"There's  a  new  hole  in  your  trousers,"  she 
said,  as  Ainslee  jumped  in  by  his  father.  "  Now, 
how  did  you  do  that  ?  " 

"  It's  only  a  teenty  one,"  Ainslee  said,  putting 
his  hand  over  it.  "  It  won't  take  but  a  speck  o' 
thread  to  sew  it  up.  I  guess  it  tored  on  the 
fence  when  I  pushed  through." 

"  I  guess  it  wouldn't  have  tored,  if  you  had 
gone  through  the  gate  as  you  ought  to,"  grand- 
ma answered,  smiling  a  little.  "  Now  Charles, 
do  remember  Pete's  old,  and  don't  abiise  him." 

"My  father  don't  hurt  him,"  Ainslee  said, 
looking  out  at  grandma.  "  Pete  loves  to  be 
abused,  the  way  papa  does  it." 

"  Well,  well !  "  grandma  laughed,  as  she  walked 
back  a  little,  and  then  stood  still  to  see  old  Pete 
start  off,  so  slowly  one  could  almost  hear  his 
bones  creak,  and  then  as  papa  snapped  the  whip 
which  did  not  touch  him,  turn  his  wise  old  head 
to  see  if  going  on  were  really  the  thing  to  be 
done,  and  then  break  into  a  steady  jog-trot,  which 
never  varied,  and  never  had,  for  fifteen  years  at 
least,  and  which  soon  brought  them  to  the  long- 
bridge. 

"  Let  me  pay  the  toll ;  I  want  to  pay  the  toll," 

22 


338  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

Ainslee  said,  as  Pete  stopped  of  his  own  accord. 
"How  much  is  it?  " 

"  Ten  cents,"  a  very  old  man  answered,  from 
a  chair  near  tlie  door.  "  Ten  cents,  if  you  want 
a  ticket  to  come  back." 

"  We're  coming  back,"  said  Ainslee.  "  Do 
we  want  a  ticket?  " 

"  Yes,"  papa  said,  giving  him  a  ten  cent  scrip, 
and  a  little  girl  ran  out,  and  handed  up  a  red 
ticket.  Ainslee  knew  her,  for  now  and  then  she 
came  to  school,  and  smiled  down  at  her,  as  he 
gave  the  ten  cents,  but  neither  of  them  spoke  a 
word. 

Over  the  toll-bridge  was  printed  in  large,  black 
letters, 

"Any  one,  driving  through  this  bridge 
faster  than  a  walk,  shall  be  fined  five 

DOLLARS." 

Pete  must  have  read  this  while  he  stopped, 
for  though  papa  snapped  the  whip  once  or  twice, 
he  only  cocked  one  ear,  and  fairly  crawled  till 
the  other  end  was  reached,  standing  stock  still, 
as  they  passed  out  to  the  open  air. 

"  O  Pete,  Pete !  "  Ainslee  said,  giving  the 
reins  a  little  jerk,  but  Pete  would  not  move. 

"  He  knows  too  much,"  said  mamma.  "  Grand- 
pa taught  Pete  that  trick  long  ago,  for  he  always 
wanted  to  stop  a  minute  when  this  stifling  bridge 


POP.  839 

was  passed,  and  look  down  the  bend  in  the  river 
before  going  on,  and  as  long  as  Pete  travels  at 
all,  he  will  surely  stand  still  here." 

"  No  better  place  in  the  world,"  said  papa, 
with  a  long  look  down  the  shining  stream,  and 
then  chirruping  to  Pete,  who  looked  back  as 
much  as  to  say,  "  Now  you've  done  the  right 
thing  my  friends,"  and  then  started  on. 

How  short  the  ride  seemed  to  Ainslee,  who 
listened  to  what  papa  and  mamma  were  saying, 
or  looked  out  at  the  houses  they  passed  now  and 
then,  and  wondered  who  the  children  were,  play- 
ing before  them  ;  or  up  to  the  tall  trees  on  either 
side  the  road,  or  at  the  zig-zag  fence,  over  which 
a  squirrel  ran,  stopping  on  a  post  to  bark  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  whisking  up  a  beech-tree  and 
balancing  on  the  tip-top  twig.  Soon  the  river 
lay  before  them  again,  and  on  the  other  side,  the 
little  gray  house  where  the  ferryman  lived. 

"Oh!"  said  Ainslee,  delighted,  "I  didn't 
know  we  was  coming  this  way,  papa.  Let  me 
get  out  now,  and  stand  on  the  boat,  while  we  go 
over." 

"  Well,"  said  papa,  "  you  may  blow  the  horn 
too,  for  the  ferryman  is  in  his  house,  I  think,  and 
does  not  see  us." 

Ainslee  jumped  out,  and  after  trying  a  good 
many  times,  blew  at  last  a  very  faint  blast  on  the 


340  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

old  tin  liorn,  hanging  from  a  nail  driven  into  the 
same  tree  to  which  the  great  wire  was  fastened 
on  which  the  ferry-boat  slid  over.  In  a  minute 
or  so,  an  old  man  came  out  from  the  house,  and 
hurrving  down  the  bank  to  the  oreat  flat-boat, 
pushed  it  oflf.  Ainslee  stood  still,  watching  him 
over,  and  listening  to  the  creak  of  the  wire,  and 
jumped  in  as  the  boat  touched  shore.  Pete 
stepped  down  gingerly,  as  if  not  quite  sure  of 
the  propriety  of  going  by  boat,  when  there  was 
a  bridge  not  a  mile  aw^ay,  and  looked  uneasily  up 
and  down  the  river  as  they  pushed  off.  Ainslee 
stood  still  by  the  man,  who  seemed  to  know  Mr. 
Barton  very  well,  and  spoke  a  word  or  two  to 
him  now  and  then.  The  boat  was  very  old ;  so 
old  that  the  water  came  in  about  Pete's  feet,  and 
Ainslee  had  to  stand  on  the  side-piece,  to  keep 
his  own  feet  from  g-^tting  wet. 

"  S'posin'  the  wire  should  break,"  he  said. 

"  'TAvouldn't  do  no  great  harm,"  the  man  said. 
"  There  ain't  much  current  here.  I'd  have  to 
pole  you  over,  that's  all.  There's  two  poles,  an' 
your  pa  could  take  one." 

Ainslee  had  no  time  to  discuss  the  matter,  for 
the  other  shore  was  reached,  and  papa  told  him 
to  climb  in.  A  few  minutes  more,  and  then  he 
saw  the  three  poplars  before  Uncle  John's,  and 
Jack  and  Lizzie  in  the  front  yard  playing. 


POP.  341 

"  They  don't  know  we're  coming,  do  they  ?  " 
Amslee  said  ;  "  won't  they  laugh  ?  " 

Jack,  looking  up  that  very  moment,  spied  them, 
and  shouting,  "  O  Lizzie !  if  there  isn't  Uncle 
Charles,"  sprang  to  meet  them.  Ainslee  tum- 
bled out  at  once,  and  that  was  the  last  any  one 
saw  of  the  three  children,  till  the  bell  rang  for 
dinner,  when  all  came  in  with  such  dirty  faces, 
nobody  could  think  of  kissing  them  till  they  had 
been  washed. 

Uncle  John  looked  out  of  the  window  several 
times  at  dinner. 

"I  am  afraid  of  rain  this  afternoon,"  he  said 
at  last,  "  and  this  year's  crop  of  hay  is  so  fine,  I 
must  not  lose  any  of  it ;  so  Barton,  though  I'm 
sorry  to  leave  you  here,  I  must  be  off  and  hurry 
the  men." 

"Why  not  all  go?"  said  papa.  "The  chil- 
dren will  be  very  ready,  I  know,  and  mamma  and 
Bertie  too." 

"  It  may  rain  and  wet  us,"  said  mamma. 

"  You  can  come  back  on  the  first  load,  if  you 
like,''  said  Uncle  John.  "  I  shall  send  one 
home  at  once." 

So,  when  the  great  hay  wagon  creaked  out  of 
the  farm-yard,  half  an  hour  later,  big  and  little 
people  all  sat  in  the  bottom,  and  jounced  along 
through  the  narrow  lane  to  the  wide  meadow, 


342  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

where  the  men  were  raking  np  the  sweet  scented 
hay,  into  Avhich  every  child,  down  to  Bertie, 
tumbled  at  once,  and  continued  to  tumble,  till 
driven  away  by  the  big  rakes. 

Very  soon  the  load  M^as  ready,  and  the  chil- 
dren begged  to  ride  back  on  it. 

"  Not  this  time,"  said  Uncle  John,  "  but  on 
the  next  perhaps.  Another  wagon  will  be  here 
soon,  and  you  may  ride  on  that.  Perhaps  mam- 
ma Avants  to  go  home  on  this  one." 

"No  indeed,"  said  mamma.  "Your  cloud  has 
gone,  and  I  will  wait  till  I  see  another,  before 
running  away." 

Ainslee  saw  something  under  a  tree,  about 
which  it  was  necessary  to  find  out  all  he  could 
at  once,  and  dashed  off  with  the  two  cousins. 
A  great  brown  jug  it  proved  to  be,  and  a  tin 
cup  by  its  side. 

"What  is  it?"  he  said,  putting  his  nose  down 
to  the  mouth.  "It  smells  first-rate.  Can't  we 
have  some  ?  " 

"  It's  molasses  and  water,  and  some  ginger  in 
it,"  Lizzie  said.  "  That's  what  the  mowers  al- 
ways have ;  lots  of  it,  but  I  guess  this  is  hot, 
standing  in  the  sun." 

"No,  'taint,''  said  a  big  man,  who  came  just 
then  for  a  drink,  "  'cause  it's  been  in  the  brook, 
nigh  all  the  mornin'.     The  other  jug's  there  now, 


POP.  343 

if  you  want  it  extra  cold,  but  you've  got  to  bring 
down  some  mox'e  from  the  house  if  you  take  that." 

"Well,'"  said  Lizzie,  and  the  man  who  drank 
and  drank  as  if  he  would  never  stop,  turned  the 
jug  upside  down,  to  show  there  was  not  another 
drop  in  it,  and  went  away. 

"  He  doesn't  know  where  the  molasses  bottle 
is,  but  I  do,"  said  Lizzie,  "  and  I'll  put  some  Kiore 
molasses  in  this,  before  we  get  our  drink."  And 
she  ran  on  to  a  thicket  of  thimble-berry  bushes, 
where  Mike  the  head  man  had  left  the  dinner- 
pails,  and  put  her  hand  in  for  the  molasses. 

"  Bow,  wow  wow  !  bow  wow  !  "  barked  a 
very  small  black  dog  rising  up  from  a  coat  where 
he  had  been  lying. 

"  Oh  !  "  cried  Lizzie,  drawing  back,  and  then 
seeing  what  a  speck  of  a  dog  it  really  Avas,  put 
her  hand  once  more  toward  the  bottle. 

"  Bow,  wow  wow  !  bow  wow  !  "  came  again, 
and  this  time  sharp  white  teeth  snapped  so  near 
the  hand,  that  Jack  pulled  her  away. 

"What  a  spitfire,"  he  said.  "That's  the 
doo;  Mike  told  about,  ever  so  long  ago  in  the 
barn.  He  said  it  came  to  his  house  most  starved 
to  death  last  spring,  when  the  baby  died,  and 
little  Mike  kept  it,  and  wouldn't  let  it  go  away. 
Mike  thought  it  wasn't  good  for  anything,  and 
now  he  says  he  wouldn't  take  twenty  dollars  for 
it,  'cause  it  knows  so  much." 


344  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

"Well,  I  wisli  it  didn't  know  so  much,"  said 
Lizzie,  "  for  I  want  the  ginger  and  things.  Any 
way  I  want  a  drink,  and  Mike  '11  have  to  fix  some 
for  his  own  self,  if  he's  got  such  a  dog,  it  won't 
let  me  touch  my  own  father's  things.  What's 
his  name  ?  " 

"  Pop,"  said  Jack,  "  unless  maybe  it's  changed. 
I  toid  Mike  that  was  a  good  name,  and  he  said 
maybe  he'd  call  him  that.  Here  Pop,  nice  Pop  ! 
come  here,  Pop  !  " 

Pop  it  evidently  was,  for  the  half  inch  of  tail 
wagged  a  very  little,  but  Pop  never  stirred,  only 
cocked  both  ears,  and  then  dropped  them,  as 
much  as  to  say,  "  I  would  if  I  could,  but  you  see 
I  can't." 

"  Any  way,  let's  go  an'  get  a  drink,"  said 
Ainslee,  tired  of  waiting,  and  picking  up  the 
tin  cup,  he  started  for  the  line  of  alders,  which 
marked  the  course  of  the  little  stream.  The  big 
jug  sat  on  a  stone  in  the  middle  of  the  deepest 
pool,  and  Ainslee  almost  tumbled  in,  as  he 
reached  forward  and  pulled  it  to  him. 

"You  thirsty  too,  Lizzie?"  he  said;  "it's  so 
full,  I  can't  pour  without  spilhng.  We'll  all 
have  to  drink  out  of  the  nose." 

So  the  three  drank,  till  not  one  wanted  another 
drop,  and  then  sat  down  in  the  grass. 

"  Grasshoppers  make  wielasses,"  said  Ainslee, 


POP.  345 

holding  a  great  brown  one  in  his  hand.  "  May- 
be they  have  melasses  an'  water  sometimes  for  a 
party." 

"  They  don't  make  but  one  drop  apiece,"  said 
Lizzie.  "  It  would  take  'em  a  good  while  to  get 
enough." 

"  No  it  wouldn't,"  Ainslee  went  on,  "  because 
they  have  acorn  cups  for  their  jugs,  an'  drink  out 
o'  the  acorn  saucers  you  know." 

"  Then  they  ain't  polite,"  Jack  said.  "  Mother 
won't  let  us  drink  out  of  our  saucers.  There's 
little  Mike.  He's  fourteen  years  old  most.  Ain't 
he  awful  little?  Don't  you  want  him  to  come 
over  the  fence  and  tell  about  Pop  ?  " 

"Yes,"  Ainslee  answered,  standing  up  to  look 
at  a  boy,  as  small  for  a  boy  as  Pop  was  for  a  dog, 
who  crawled  between  the  rails  as  they  spoke, 
and  stood  looking  at  them. 

"  Where  you  going,  Mike  ? "  Jack  called. 
"  Come  here." 

"  It's  afther  Pop  I  am,"  said  Mike.  "  It's  in 
the  faild  he  is." 

"  He  tried  to  bite  me,  when  I  went  for  molasses 
to  fill  the  jug  up,"  said  Lizzie.  "  Did  you  teach 
him  that?" 

"  An'  I  didn't,"  said  Mike,  sitting  down  com- 
fortably by  them,  and  very  ready  for  a  talk. 
"  It's  little  I  could  tache  him :  he  knows  more 
nor  most  Christians  this  minute." 


346  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

"  Toll  all  about  where  you  got  him,"  said 
Jack,  stretchijig  out  at  full  length,  and  ready  to 
talk  or  listen,  whichever  seemed  best.  "  Ainslee 
don't  know  where  you  got  him,  and  he  wants 
to." 

"  I  didn't  get  him,  he  corned  ;  "  said  Mike,  sit- 
ting still  a  minute  or  so  as  if  thinking,  and  then, 
clasping  his  hands  over  his  knees,  and  rocking 
back  and  forth,  he  went  on. 

"  'Twas  in  the  spring  he  came,  an'  the  night 
too,  that  little  Pat  died,  an'  he  sittin'  under  the 
wmdy,  an'  a  howlin'  the  night  through.  '  O 
wurra  !  wurra  ! '  says  mother  when  she  hears  it, 
an'  she  throws  her  apron  over  her  face,  an' 
wouldn't  look  at  Pat,  but  jist  held  him  up  to  her. 
Father  says  to  me,  '  You  go,  Mike,'  says  he,  '  an' 
drive  the  crather  away  ; '  an'  I  wint,  glad  enough 
to  go  too,  for  I  couldn't  slape  for  thinkin'  maybe 
little  Pat  Avouldn't  be  alive  whin  the  mornin' 
come.  There  Pop  was,  under  the  windy,  an' 
he  wouldn't  stir,  for  all  the  sticks  an'  the  stones 
I  sint  at  him,  but  kep'  his  mouth  open  jist,  a 
lookin'  at  me  an'  a  howlin'.  I  grew  frightened 
of  him,  an'  father  too,  for  he'd  come  out  an'  give 
him  a  kick.  '  It's  sint  the  crather  is,'  says  he, 
'an'  I'll  not  be  dhrivin'  him  away;'  an'  he  jist 
goes  in,  an'  sits  down,  an'  keeps  a  lookin'  at 
mother  an'  Pat. 


POP.  34T 

"Whither  it  were  long  or  whither  it  were  short, 
I  couldn't  tell  ye,  but  all  to  onct,  Pat  give  a  lape 
like,  an'  throwecl  up  his  little  arms,  an'  thin  he 
was  gone.  '  It's  with  the  blissed  angels  he  is,' 
says  father,  a-thryin'  to  take  him  from  mother, 
but  she  wouldn't  let  go,  an'  then  she  sat  till  the 
day  was  come,  jist  rockin'  back  an'  forth  with 
him,  till  Mary  Maloney,  that's  me  father's  sister, 
come  in,  an'  she  says,  — 

"  Now  give  him  to  me,  Norah,  till  I  straighten 
him." 

"  '  No  hands'll  do  it  but  mine,'  says  mother,  an' 
she  gets  up  quiet  like,  an'  tells  us  all  to  lave  her 
alone ;  an'  whin  father  come,  with  the  little  coffin 
he'd  been  to  the  town  to  buy,  she'd  put  a  white 
frock  on  little  Pat,  an'  they  put  him  in  it,  with 
posies  round  him,  till  lie  looked  like  the  blissed 
Virgin's  own  cliild."  And  Mike  crossed  himself. 
"  There  was  few  to  the  wake,  for  there's  not 
many  o'  our  own  people  here,  but  every  one 
there  was,  come,  an'  through  it  all  Pop  sat  by  the 
bed,  an'  he  wouldn't  stir.  'He  shall  stay  an' 
niver  want  bite  nor  sup,'  says  mother,  'for 
'twas  he  give  warnin'  as  Pat  was  to  go.'  So 
we've  kep'  him  an'  there's  nothin'  he  don't  know. 
He  stays  by  the  things  in  the  field,  an'  sorra  to 
the  one,  that  goes  near  'em,  unless  it's  me  father, 
an'  there  isn't  a  thrick  he  can't  do.     It's  starved 


348  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

he  was  whin  he  first  come,  an'  the  bones  of  him 
stuck  through  the  skin,  so  he'll  nivcr  be  growin' 
much  more,  but  there's  a  dale  in  him,  an'  he's 
company  like  for  motlier  an'  me,  whin  he  don't 
go  off  with  father.  There's  many  a  day  whin  I 
can't  go  to  school,  an'  I  sit  \vith  my  book  maybe, 
an'  Pop  a-lyin'  by  me,  an'  niver  give  it  a  thought 
hardly.  I'm  not  like  the  others,  an'  can't  play 
nor  run  like  thim." 

"  Why  can't  you  ?  "  said  Ainslee,  avIio  had  lis- 
tened earnestly  to  every  word  Mike  said. 

"  It's  the  pain  in  me  back  that  won't  let  me, 
some  o'  the  davs,"  Mike  answered :  "  tliough 
there's  a  many  that  I'm  in  an'  out  with  the  rest 
of  'em.     It's  the  fall  that  did  it." 

"What  fall  ?  "  Ainslee  asked. 

"  From  the  tree,"  said  Mike.  "  The  appil- 
tree  I  climbed  to  get  the  nest  was  in  the  top. 
The  limb  broke  an'  let  me  down  to  the  ground, 
an'  whin  they  picked  me  up  for  dead,  it's  my 
back  was  ruined  intirely,  so  that  I'll  never  grow 
all  I  would  a-done.  See  now,  there's  a  drop  o' 
rain  fallin',  an'  the  clouds  are  black  like." 

Uncle  John's  voice  came  over  the  field ;  "  Hur- 
ry, children,  the  last  load  is  going  !  "  and  though 
Ainslee  longed  to  stay  and  hear  more,  he  ran  on 
with  the  rest.  Mamma  had  gone  some  time  be- 
fore with  Aunt  Sarah  and  Bertie,  and  papa  tossed 


POP.  349 

the  children  quickly  to  the  top  of  the  load,  and 
then  sprang  np  himself,  for  a  "little  bit  of  the 
days  of  his  youth,"  he  said.  Big  Mike  urged  on 
the  horses,  which  trotted  fast  as  the  heavy  load 
would  let  them,  through  the  meadow,  and  into 
the  lane  leading  to  the  barn.  A  low  rumble  of 
thunder  sounded  from  the  west:  the  sun  had 
gone  behind  thick  clouds,  the  black  edges  of 
which  seemed  almost  to  curl  under  the  lightning 
which  P'lanced  through  them  at  times.  The  wind 
whirled  through  the  trees,  driving  little  wisps  of 
hay  before  it,  and  great  drops,  falling  at  intervals, 
plashed  on  the  horses'  broad  backs,  and  on  Ains- 
lee's  cheeks  as  he  looked  up  to  the  sky. 

"  I  don't  much  like  the  thunder,"  he  said. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  papa  asked. 

"  It's  so  loud  and  frightening,"  Ainslee  went 
on.  "Lizzie  don't  either,  nor  Jack,  I  guess.  She's 
got  her  face  all  covered  up." 

"No  need  of  that,"  said  papa.  "Here  we 
are  at  home,  and  now  there  is  no  danger  to 
dread  ;  "  and  he  pushed  them  through  the  barn 
window,  which  stood  open  ready  for  the  last  load 
of  hay  to  be  pitched  in,  from  which  they  slid 
down  quickly  to  the  floor,  and  ran  into  the  house. 
Coming  in  presently,  papa  found  them  all  by  the 
parlor  window,  looking  out  to  the  storm  which, 
for  a  few  minutes,  had  raged  furiously,  but  was 
now  dying  away. 


350  THE  AIXSLEE  STORIES. 

"  We  got  the  last  fork-full  in,  just  as  the  rain 
came,"  he  said,  sitting  down  near  the  children. 
"  That  crop  is  all  right  for  this  year.  Are  you 
afraid  now,  Lizzie  ?  " 

"  Only  some,"  Lizzie  answered.  "  I  looked 
out,  and  there  was  one  flash  all  purple.  Uncle 
Charles,  and  one  came  straight  down,  as  if  it 
went  right  into  the  ground.  I  screamed  just  a 
speck,  an'  I  guess  Ainslee  would  too,  only  he 
wanted  to  make  fun  of  me.  Is  it  silly  to  be 
afraid?" 

"No;  it  is  best  to  be  a  little  afraid,"  papa 
said,  smiling  at  the  svu'prised  look  Avhich  Jack 
and  Ainslee  gave  him,  "  because  the  fear  will 
make  you  careful  not  to  be  in  dangerous  places 
if  you  can  help  it,  when  a  thunder-storm  comes 
up.  When  you  are  a  little  older,  you  will  under- 
stand exactly  why  it  is  better  not  to  be  iinder 
tall  trees,  or  out  in  an  open  field,  or  even  on  top 
of  a  load  of  hay  as  we  were  to-day.  Better  too, 
not  to  be  very  near  an  open  window,  as  you  were 
when  I  came  in.  On  the  whole  I  think  that,  by 
and  by,  when  I  am  cooler,  I  will  tell  you  of 
Franklin,  and  what  he  did  about  the  lightning ; 
his  kite,  and  his  key,  and  his  silk  string." 

"  His  kite !  "  said  Jack.  "  A  man  fly  a  kite  ! 
What  a  man  !  Maybe,  though,  he  flew  it  to  show 
his  little  boy  how." 


POP.  351 

"  No,  he  didn't,"  said  papa.  "  Walt  awhile, 
and  you  shall  know  all  about  it." 

So  an  hour  later,  when  the  rain  was  over,  and 
the  rainbow,  which  had  spanned  the  sky  as  the 
last  drops  fell,  and  the  sun  shone  out,  was  fading 
away  in  the  clear  blue.  Jack  and  Lizzie  and 
Ainslee  sat  by  papa  on  the  broad  piazza,  and  lis- 
tened to  the  wonderful  story  of  the  lightning ; 
born  in  the  clouds,  dying  at  once,  and  yet  living 
forever.  Ask  your  older  brother  or  sister  to  tell 
you  this  riddle,  which,  when  you  once  know  well, 
will,  I  think,  be  always  new  and  fresh  to  your 
minds,  whether  thought  of  in  storm,  or  in  sum- 
mer nights  when  the  horizon  gleams  with  the 
flickering  heat  lightning,  or  sometimes,  maybe, 
in  northern  winters,  when  stars  shine  clear,  and 
pale  auroras  rise  and  fall  amid  them. 

It  was  almost  six  o'clock  when  the  story,  and 
the  talk  which  followed,  ended,  and  the  three 
children  ran  to  the  barn  for  one  swing  before 
supper.  Big  Mike  was  there,  still  packing  the 
hay,  and  Pop,  with  little  Mike  by  him,  sat  again 
on  the  coat  which  had  been  thrown  into  the  cor- 
ner :  not  on  guard  this  time,  though,  and  ready 
to  get  acquainted  at  once.  How  he  did  look,  too, 
when  one  examined  him.  Ears  cut  so  close  one 
needed  spectacles  to  see  them,  and  a  rusty  black 
beard  sticking  out  all  ways  from  his  small  nose. 


352  THE  AINSLEE   STORIES. 

Siifli  shilling  yellow  eyes,  too,  that  one  mioht 
liave  thought  a  little  fire  kindled  at  the  back  of 
each. 

"  Don't  be  tonchin'  him,  till  he's  smelled  yees 
all  over,"  said  Mike.  "  He  won't  be  friends  un- 
less lie  jist  chooses." 

Pop  left  his  place,  and  walked  about  Ainslee, 
sniffing  for  a  moment,  and  then  with  a  short, 
sharp  bark,  ran  between  his  legs  so  suddenly, 
that  Ainslee  tipped  into  the  hay  lying  all  about. 

"  He's  all  right,"  said  Jack,  rolling  over  after 
him,  and  a  play  began,  which  lasted  till  the  dust 
flew  in  such  fashion,  nobody  could  tell  which 
was  Pop  and  which  the  children. 

"  Look  at  your  head,  Ainslee,"  Lizzie  said, 
sitting  up  at  last.     "  It's  all  full  o'  hay-seed." 

"  So's  yours,"  Ainslee  answered,  shaking  him- 
self; "and  there's  spears  o'  hay  sticking  up  all 
over  it.  I  didn't  think  I  was  going  to  get  so 
dirty.  It's  good  mamma  brought  some  clothes 
for  Sunday,  ain't  it  ?  " 

"  I  should  think  it  was,"  said  Lizzie.  "  You'd 
look  great,  going  to  church  just  the  way  you 
are  now.  There's  Mary  picking  up  chips  ;  let's 
help  her." 

Big  Mike  by  this  time  had  called  for  little 
Mike  and  Pop,  and  all  gone  away  together,  and 
the    three    cousins    ran    to  the  wood-house,  and 


POP.  353 

carried  In  a  supply  of  chips  for  Mary,  who  said 
they  were  better  to  get  tea  by,  than  a  regular 
fire  of  big  sticks. 

"  I  let  it  all  go  down  after  dinner,"  she  said, 
"  so  the  kitchen  isn't  hot  a  bit,  an'  I  can  sew 
by  the  window  all  the  afternoon  most,  till  it's 
time  to  boil  the  kettle  for  tea.  You're  going  to 
have  something  good  to-night,  —  Flap-jacks  !  " 

"  Flap-jacks  !  "  repeated  Ainslee  ;  "  what  are 
they  ?  "  watching  Mary  as  she  broke  an  egg  into 
a  basin  on  the  table. 

"  I  guess  you've  had  'em,  if  you've  lived  at 
your  grandma's,"  said  Mary.  "  Old-fashioned 
they  say  they  be,  but  they're  better'n  any  new- 
fangled crriddle." 

"  Round  pan  cakes,"  said  Jack,  smacking  his 
lips.  "  Big  as  a  plate,  you  know,  an'  butter  an' 
sugar  on  every  one,  an'  then  she  cuts  'em  like 
a  pie,  an'  nobody  ever  has  enough.     I  don't." 

"  That  ain't  sayin'  the  rest  don't,"  said  Mary. 
"  You  run  off  now,  and  when  the  bell  rings, 
I  guess  you'll  get  all  that's  good  for  you." 

The  children  went  up-stairs  to  be  "  redd  up," 
as  nurse  called  it,  but  came  down  in  time  to 
watch  the  baking  of  the  last  two  or  three  golden 
brown  cakes,  one  plate  of  which  Lizzie  was  al- 
lowed to  take  into  the  dining  room,  where  pres- 
ently big  and  little  people  both,  declared  them 

23 


So-it  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

to  be  the  very  best  tliat  conkl  be  made.  Havino; 
makes  one  wonderfully  hungry,  and  as  Ainslee 
ended  supper  with  one  of  Aunt  Sarah's  delicious 
custards,  he  sighed  so  deeply  as  he  came  to  the 
bottom  of  the  cup,  that  Uncle  John  looked  up. 

"  What  now,  Ainslee  ?  "  he  said. 

Ainslee  laughed  a  little,  and  then  whispered 
to  Lizzie,  who  sat  next  to  him. 

"  He  says  he's  going  to  have  a  custard  baked 
in  a  milk  pan,  when  he's  a  man,"  said  Lizzie, 
"  and  eat  every  bit,  so's  to  have  enough." 

"  That's  the  way  with  all  of  us,"  said  Uncle 
John,  handing  him  the  last  half  of  his  own 
custard.  "  I  had  resolved  that  my  first  act  on 
growing  up,  should  be  to  oversee  the  baking  of 
a  tremendous  mince-pie,  to  be  my  own  private 
property,  not  touched  by  anybody  else  ;  but  that 
pie  never  has  been  baked,  and  never  will  be." 

"  Won't  Aunt  Sarah  make  it  ?  "  said  Ainslee. 

"  Perhaps,"  Uncle  John  laughed,  rising  from 
the  table.  "  111  talk  to  her  about  it,  and  see 
what  she  thinks." 

, Ainslee  stood  by  them,  listening  a  few  mo- 
ments to  the  half-jesting  talk,  which  by  and  by 
grew  beyond  him,  and  then  went  out  once  more 
to  the  piazza  for  a  last  play  before  bed-time, 
which  came  all  too  soon.  Talking  went  on  for 
a  little  while  between  the  rooms,  and  then  the 


POP.  355 

Sandman  opened  the  Dream  Umbrella,  which 
you  who  read  Andersen,  know  all  about,  and 
under  which  Lizzie  and  Jack  and  Ainslee  staid, 
the  whole  nio;ht  throufrh. 

Sunday  went  by  almost  as  swiftly  as  Satur- 
day, for  though  there  was  no  playing,  there  was 
so  much  to  do,  that  night  came  before  they  knew 
it.  The  church  was  nearly  two  miles  away,  and 
the  sreat  rockawav  carried  all  that  could  be 
squeezed  into  it.  Uncle  John  and  papa  walked, 
and  Aunt  Sarah  put  up  a  luncheon  in  a  basket, 
for  as  it  was  such  a  distance,  they  did  not  go 
home  between  the  services. 

The  minister  was  a  very  old  man,  who  read 
and  preached  so  slowly,  that  though  Ainslee 
tried  very  hard  to  listen,  he  grew  sleepier  and 
sleepier.  He  could  feel  the  little  breeze  which 
blew  in  through  the  half  open  window  now  and 
then,  and  almost  hear  the  bumble-bee  droning 
over  the  clover  tops.  A  locust  chirped  long  and 
shrill  from  the  poplar  close  by,  and  as  Ainslee 
listened,  his  head  grew  heavy,  and  papa's  arm 
drawing  him  nearer,  was  the  last  thing  he  knew, 
till  he  woke  with  a  start,  to  find  the  organ 
playing,  and  the  people  standing  up  for  the  last 
hymn. 

"  From  Greenland's  icy  mountains "  it  was, 
and  Ainslee  stood  up  and  sang  the  little  bit  he 


356  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

knew.  He  felt  quite  wide  awake  when  the 
benediction  had  been  said,  and  all  went  out ; 
some  to  the  old  grave-yard,  where  they  walked 
up  and  down  among  the  stones,  and  a  few  to 
the  sloi)e  back  of  the  church,  where  they  sat 
under  the  trees,  and  ate  the  luncheon  they  had 
brought. 

"  I  know  a  better  place  than  any  of  these," 
said  Uncle  John.     "  Come,  friends." 

"  Do  you  ?  "  said  a  voice,  "  so  do  I.  Come 
with  me,"  and  Ainslee  turned  in  surprise  tof 
see  Dr.  Sumner,  who  sat  so  far  back  in  the 
church  that  he  had  not  noticed  him. 

"  We  were  going  down  to  the  river  bank," 
said  Uncle  John,  shaking  hands  with  him. 
"  There  are  altogether  too  many  of  us,  to  think 
of  going  with  you.  We  should  crowd  you  out 
of  the  house." 

"  So  much  the  better,"  said  Dr.  Sumner. 
"  Who  wants  to  be  in  the  house  on  a  day  like 
this?     Come  with  me." 

Uncle  John  went  on,  and  all  the  rest  followed, 
of  course.  A  very  little  way  down  the  road, 
and  then  a  small  gate,  through  which  they 
passed  into  what  had  once  been  a  broad  meadow, 
covered  now  with  almost  a  forest,  about  the  long, 
low  house.  There  were  seats  under  the  trees, 
and    openings  among  them,  through  which   the 


POP.  357 

river  was  seen  beyond.  Ai'nslee  ran  forward 
to  find  a  little  branch  of  the  river  windino; 
throucfh  the  foot  of  the  meadow,  and  makino;  an 
island  of  one  point,  on  which  stood  a  feathery 
larch  and  two  great  maples.  A  little  bridge  led 
to  this ;  there  were  seats  under  these  trees,  too, 
and  Ainslee  stood  still,  hoping  the  big  people 
would  all  come  here.  Sure  enough.  Dr.  Sumner 
walked  straight  on  after  him,  and  soon  every 
one  was  sitting  under  the  trees,  and  enjoying  the 
cool  breeze  wliich  came  fresh  from  the  river. 

"  I  wish  I  needn't  go  to  church  this  after- 
noon," said  Ainslee.  "  I  wish  I  could  stay  here, 
or  else  go  into  the  house." 

"  So  you  may,  if  mamma  is  willing,"  said 
Dr.  Sumner.  "  I  am  not  going  again  myself  till 
evening,  and  you  may  look  at  pictures  or  talk, 
just  as  you  please." 

"  Some  o'  both,  I  guess,"  said  Ainslee,  leaning 
his  head  against  mamma,  who  talked  on,  till  soon 
the  bell  rang  again,  and  the  big  people  got  up, 
and  began  to  walk  slowly  on  toward  the  road 
to  the  church.  Dr.  Sumner  watched  them 
through  the  gate,  and  then  led  the  way  to  the 
house,  taking  the  children  through  two  or  three 
rooms,  which,  coming  from  such  bright  sunshine, 
seemed  to  them  very  dark  and  almost  chilly,  and 
stopping  at  last  in  one  very  large   one,  heavily 


358  THE  AINSLEE  STOHIES. 

wainscoted,  and  with  deep  window-seats.  Here, 
though,  the  sun  poured  in  cheerily,  hghting  up 
a  Avorld  of  curious  things,  about  which  Ainslee 
wanted  to  ask  so  many  questions,  and  would 
liave  begun  at  once,  liad  not  the  fire-place  at- 
tracted his  attention.  It  was  an  open  one,  with 
the  brass  "  dogs,"  or  andirons  standing  there, 
and  between  them  a  "  bough  pot,"  as  grandma 
Walton  called  them,  a  tall  blue  and  white  jar, 
filled  with  asparagus  branches.  It  was  not  at 
this  that  Ainslee  looked,  however,  but  at  the 
curious  pictures  which  seemed  to  make  the  fire- 
place. 

"  What  are  they  ? "  he  said,  as  Jack  and 
Lizzie  too,  came  up  and  stood  looking  at  them. 

"  Tiles,"  said  Dr.  Sumner  ;  "  made  of  crock- 
ery like  the  plates,  and  wdth  Bible  pictures  on 
them.  Older  than  I  am,  too,  a  deal.  They 
were  here  when  I  was  a  boy,  for  I  was  born 
in  this  house,  and,  please  God,  mean  to  die  in  it." 

"  Don't,"  said  Ainslee,  putting  his  finger  on 
a  fat  Daniel  in  the  Lion's  Den  ;  "  don't  die. 
What  is  this  man  doing  with  the  three  cats  ?  " 

"  They  are  not  cats  ;  they  are  lions,"  said  Dr. 
Sumner,  sitting  down  in  a  great  chair  near  them. 
"  Which  shall  I  do  ?  Get  a  book  and  show  you 
pictures  about  which  we  can  talk,  or  tell  you 
what  these  different  tiles  mean  ?  " 


POP.  359 

"  Tell  about  the  tiles,"  the  children  all  agreed, 
and  Dr.  Sumner  began,  first  telling  the  story  of 
Daniel,  and  then  going  on  to  Joseph,  whose 
whole  history  was  pictured  here.  Ainslee  liked  the 
story  of  Joseph  better  than  almost  any  other  in  the 
Old  Testament,  and  the  three  listened  intently 
till  the  last  words  came,  and  Dr.  Sumner  said, 
"  And  so  he  died,  and  was  buried  with  his 
fathers,"  and  then  sat  silent,  looking  straight  be- 
fore him. 

"  Died,"  repeated  Ainslee.  "  They  all  died. 
I  wish  we  didn't  have  to  die  ;  it's  nice  to  stay 
alive.  I  wouldn't  want  any  dog,  even  Pop,  to 
come  and  howl  under  the  window  and  make  me 
die." 

"  What !  "  said  Dr.  Sumner ;  and  Ainslee,  after 
some  hesitation,  told  the  story  of  little  Pat  and 
Pop,  as  well  as  he  could  remember  it. 

"  Pop  had  nothing  to  do  with  his  dying,  poor 
little  fellow !  "  said  Dr.  Sumner,  when  he  ended. 
"  It  happened  so,  and  the  Irish  being  very  super- 
stitious, said  Pop  was  sent  to  give  warning.  A 
good  many  people  believe  as  Mike  did,  but  that 
does  not  make  it  true.  Death  himself  is  God's 
only  messenger,  when  we  go  out  of  the  world, 
and  he  is  not  to  be  dreaded." 

"  I  don't  want  to  die  and  be  buried,"  said 
Ainslee.      "  I    looked    at   an    old    iirave    in    the 


360  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

graveyJii'd  to-day,  and  there  were  weeds  on  it, 
and  the  stone  tumbled  down,  and  everyfhhig.  I 
shouldn't  want  to  be  put  in  the  ground." 

"  It  is  not  you  who  will  be  put  in  the  ground," 
said  Dr.  Sumner  ;  "  only  the  case  in  which  the 
you  was.  All  in  you  that  can  think,  and  act, 
and  love,  goes  home  to  the  great  Father,  and  the 
body,  that  never  does  quite  all  we  wish  from 
it,  is  put  away.  Dying  is  like  going  to  sleep. 
Better  than  going  to  sleep,  child,  for  in  sleeping 
bad  dreams  often  come,  and  tossings  and  trouble, 
and  we  wake  up  tired  and  sick,  but  when  the 
eyes  shut  in  this  last  sleep  of  all,  there  are  no 
dreams,  and  God  himself  is  with  us  when  we 
wake." 

"  I  need  not  be  afraid,  then,"  said  Ainslee, 
after  a  little  pause. 

"  Never,"  Dr.  Sumner  answered,  "  if  you  try 
always  to  be  good  as  you  know  how  to  be,  and 
trust  God  for  the  rest." 

"  It  is  hard  work  to  be  good,"  Lizzie  said 
softly. 

"  Hard  work,  indeed,"  Dr.  Sumner  answered  ; 
"  but  you  know  where  all  the  power  to  be  good 
comes  from,  and  we  never  have  to  do  more  than 
we  are  able,  at  the  worst  of  times." 

"  I'm  glad  of  that,"  Lizzie  said,  and  then 
there  was  silence  for  a  little  while,  broken  at  last 


POP.  361 

by  Dr.  Sumner,  who  took  down  from  one  of  the 
shelves  a  great  book,  which  proved  to  be  full 
of  pictures,  very  beautiful  ones.  It  was  the 
"  Pilgrim's  Progress,"  and  the  time  went  by  so 
swiftly  in  talking  of  each  one,  that  the  older 
people  were  back  from  church  before  the  chil- 
dren thoufrht  of  lookino;  for  them.  There  was 
more  talking  for  a  little  while,  and  then  the 
rockaway  came,  and  all  got  in,  Jack  and  Ainslee 
standing  between  their  father's  knees,  and  Lizzie 
sitting  on  the  back  seat  between  mamma  and 
Aunt  Sarah.  Supper  was  ready  when  they  got 
home,  and  after  it  was  over,  everybody  sat  on 
the  piazza,  watching  the  sunset,  and  at  last  be- 
ginning to  sing  old  hymns.  Bed-time  came  too 
soon,  just  as  it  had  done  the  night  before,  and 
as  Ainslee  lay  down  with  Jack,  in  the  little  white 
bed,  he  wished  almost  that  there  were  no  need 
of  going  back  for  the  Examination,  and  that  he 
had  at  least  one  day  longer,  in  which  to  go  and 
see  Mike,  and  find  out  still  more  about  his  fall 
and  about  Pop. 


XX. 

THREE  LITTLE  PIGS. 

Monday  momino;  had  come,  and  Ainslee, 
looking  from  the  window  of  the  httle  room  where 
Jack  and  he  liad  slept,  saw  the  rain  ponring 
down  steadily,  quite  as  if  it  meant  to  last  all  day. 

"  Goody  !  "  Jack  shouted  ;  "  now  you  can't  go 
home  to  day  !  "  but  Ainslee,  sitting  down  on  the 
foot  of  the  bed,  almost  cried. 

"  I  knowed  every  one  o'  my  lessons  perfeck 
last  week,"  he  said,  "  an'  there  isn't  but  three 
days  more  of  school,  an'  I  didn't  want  to  miss 
one  single  day." 

"  'Twon't  hurt,"  said  Jack.  "  You  can  say 
your  spellin'  to  me  maybe,  Ainslee,  an'  go  home 
this  afternoon." 

"  You  don't  know  spelHn'  much.  I  don't  want 
to  say  it  to  you,'  Ainslee  growled,  kicking  one 
shoe  out  of  the  way.  "  I'd  say  it  to  mamma,  if 
I  said  it  to  anybody." 

"  I  guess  I  know  more'n  you  do,  anyway,"  said 
Jack,  indignantly.  "  I'm  a  year  older.  I've  got 
to  three  syllables,  anyhow." 


THREE  LITTLE  PIGS.  363 

"  There  ain't  anything  about  silly  bulls,  in  my 
spellin',"  said  Ainslee.  "  I'm  learnin'  '  Baker, 
shady,  lady,'  an'  I  know  most  every  word  per- 
fect" 

"  No !  ain't  you  great !  "  said  Jack,  making 
ready  to  explain  what  syllables  were,  but  cut 
short  by  mamma,  who  just  then  called  Ainslee  to 
come  and  amuse  Bertie  for  a  few  moments  while 
she  finished  dressing.  Breakfast  was  ready  at 
seven,  in  order  that  they  might  make  an  early 
start  for  home,  in  case  it  should  stop  raining, 
but  of  this  there  was  not  one  sign.  Gray  clouds 
hung  low,  hiding  every  bit  of  blue  sky,  and  Ains- 
lee as  he  looked  out  to  them,  lost  all  appetite 
even  for  fried  potato,  and  sat  still,  knocking  his 
knife  against  his  plate  and  looking  almost  snlky. 
Jack  had  explained  matters  to  his  father  on  the 
way  down-stairs,  and  Uncle  John,  who  knew 
just  how  it  felt  to  lose  one  of  the  last  days  be- 
fore examination,  tried,  while  he  ate  his  break- 
fast, to  think  what  had  better  be  done. 

"  You  will  not  think  of  going  this  morning,  of 
course,"  Aunt  Sarah  said,  as  she  handed  a  cup 
of  coffee  to  Mr.  Barton. 

"  No,  indeed,"  he  answered.  "  That  is,  if  you 
are  willing  to  keep  us  a  day  longer.  It  may 
hold  up  by  afternoon,  but  I  should  not  like  to 
risk  driving  home  this  morning  on  Bertie's  ac- 
count, though  I  am  sorry  on  Ainslee's." 


364  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

Ainslee,  who  had  been  hoping  that  possibly 
papa  would  go  after  all,  sat  winking  very  hard 
for  half  a  minute,  and  then  jumping  from  his 
chair,  which  tumbled  over  at  once,  ran  up-stairs 
and  shut  himself  into  Jack's  room.  Lizzie,  who 
followed,  heard  him  crying,  but  he  made  no  an- 
swer to  either  calls  or  knocks,  and  she  Avent  down 
ajrain  to  the  dinino-room,  discourao-ed.  Jack 
met  with  no  better  success,  and  the  two  sat  down 
in  the  window,  and  wondered  when  it  would  stop 
raining,  and  how  long  it  would  be  before  Ains- 
lee felt  better. 

The  old  rooster  walked  around  the  house,  his 
Ions  tail  soaked  into  one  feather,  and  drafrsins 
on  the  ground,  and  after  him  came  Cleopatra,  a 
stately  white  hen,  who  ruled  all  the  others,  and 
had  the  handsomest  chickens  that  ever  were  seen. 

"  See  how  wet  she  is,"  said  Lizzie,  "  and  she 
don't  mind  the  rain  a  bit.  Look  at  the  ducks, 
pulling  the  angle-worms  out  o'  the  ground.  I 
should  think  angle-worms  would  know  enough  to 
stay  in  rainy  days,  an'  then  the  ducks  wouldn't 
get  'em.  Jack !  there's  Mr.  Green  at  the  gate, 
and  Fm  going  to  open  the  door." 

Lizzie  ran  through  the  hall,  followed  closely  by 
Jack,  who  came  with  such  speed,  that  he  nearly 
fell  over  Mr.  Green,  who  looked  down  in  surprise 
as  the  door  flew  open. 


THREE  LITTLE  PIGS.  365 

"  Your  fatlier  to  home!  "  he  said,  stepping  into 
the  hall,  and  shaking  off  a  shower  of  rain-drops. 
"  I've  come  for  them  peas." 

"  Sure  enough,"  Uncle  John  said,  coming  for- 
ward. "  Good  morning,  Mr.  Green.  You'i'e  not 
going  to  Windsor  in  this  rain  ?  " 

"  Haven't  missed  a  Monday  for  pretty  nearly 
'leven  years,"  Mr.  Green  answered.  "  I  guess 
the  folks  that  buy,  would  be  poorly  off  for  sass, 
if  I  didn't  come  along  Monday's.  Did  you  see 
my  Ann  yesterday,  with  her  fine  top-knot? 
That's  where  it  come  from  ;  eggs  an'  butter,  and 
sich,  the  women  folks  smuggle  in  'long  with  the 
beans  and  peas.     Your'n  ready?  " 

"  There  is  Mike  with  them,  now,"  said  Uncle 
John,  to  whom  a  sudden  thought  had  come. 
"  Mary  !  "  he  called  to  Mrs.  Barton,  who  came 
out  to  the  hall.  "  Here's  a  chance  for  Ainslee, 
if  you're  not  afraid  of  his  getting  a  little  wet. 
I  can  do  him  up  in  my  rubber  coat,  if  you  like." 

"Will  Mr.  Green  be  willing?"  said  mamma. 

"  Sartin  ma'am,"  said  Mr.  Green,  who  had 
been  looking  at  Mike.  "  What  is  it  you  want  to 
send?     Berries  ?  " 

"  Not  exactly,"  laughed  mamma.  "  It  is  my 
little  boy,  who  is  very  anxious  to  be  at  school  to- 
day, as  he  is  getting  ready  for  the  Examination  on 
Wednesday.    The  school  is  on  your  road,  I  think, 


366  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

and  if  you  will  take  charge  of  liim,  I  shall  be 
very  much  obliged." 

"  Bring  him  along,  ma'am,"  said  Mr.  Green, 
"  and  tlie  sooner  the  better,  for  the  rain  has  put 
me  back  more'n  an  hour." 

Mamma  hurried  up  to  Ainslee,  who  had  stop- 
ped crying,  and  stood  by  the  window,  drawing 
faces  with  his  finger  on  the  wet  panes,  and  won- 
derino;  wdiat  was  2;;oino;  on  down-stairs,  thoucih  a 
little  ashamed  to  go  and  see. 

"  Here  is  comfort  for  you,"  said  mamma,  cheer- 
ily. "  Mr.  Green,  the  man  who  carries  round 
vegetables,  you  know,  says  he  will  take  you 
with  him.  You  must  stay  all  day  at  school  if  it 
keeps  on  raining,  and  go  home  under  Sinny's 
umbrella.  Will  you  be  a  very  good  boy,  and 
not  trouble  grandma,  if  we  do  not  come  till  to- 


morrow 


9  " 


"  I  guess  I  will  so  !  "  said  Ainslee,  just  as  happy 
as  he  had  been  miserable,  and  dancing  about 
the  room.  Uncle  John  came  in  with  the  rubber 
coat  which  was  put  on,  over  head  and  all,  and 
even  then  was  so  long  that  he  could  hardly  step. 
Jack  and  Lizzie  shouted  when  he  appeared  at  the 
top  of  the  stairs,  and  papa  picked  him  up  and 
carried  him  out  to  the  long  wagon,  where  Mr. 
Green  stowed  him  away  on  the  bottom,  in  front 
of  the  seat. 


THREE  LITTLE  PIGS.  367 

"  I  didn't  kiss  mamma,  nor  say  '  good  by,'  nor 
nothin',''  said  Ainslee,  pulling  back  the  coat  so 
that  he  could  see  out.  "  I'll  give  you  three,  papa, 
quick,  one  for  you  an'  two  for  them,  and  tell 
John  and  Lizzie  to  come  over  to  grandpa's  just 
as  soon  as  they  can." 

The  latter  part  of  this  speech  was  lost  to  papa, 
for  Mr.  Green  had  chirruped  to  the  little  brown 
horse,  which  started  down  the  road  on  a  brisk 
trot. 

"  Do  jon  go  to  church  ?  "  Ainslee  said  at  last, 
after  thinking  for  some  time  what  he  had  better 
talk  about,  "  I  looked  all  round  yesterday,  but 
I  guess  I  didn't  see  you." 

"Did  you  look  up  to  the  choir?"  said  Mr. 
Green.  "  I  was  there.  You  wouldn't  a-seen 
me,  if  you'd  looked  though." 

"Why?"  said  Ainslee.  "They  sit  right  in 
front  o'  the  gallery,  just  like  Mr.  Parker's  choir. 
I  could  count  'em  every  one.     Did  you  sing  ?  " 

"  No,  I  didn't,"  said  Mr.  Green,  beginning  to 
laugh.     "  I  ain't  no  singer.     I  blowed." 

"  Blowed  what  ?  "  said  Ainslee,  puzzled. 

"  The  bellers,"  Mr.  Green  answered,  laughing 
again.  "  The  bellers  to  the  organ.  My  boy 
Tom  blows  'em,  but  he  was  under  the  weather 
yesterday.  Ate  too  many  green  apples,  I  reckon, 
so  I  blowed  instead  o'  him." 

"  But  I  saw  a  woman,  making  the  organ  go," 


3G8  THE  Ai^:sLEE  stories. 

said  Ainslee,  after  a  moment  of  trying  to  under- 
stand tilings.     "  You  ain't  a  woman." 

"  Bless  you  !  "  said  Mr.  Green.  "  I  know 
that.  Didn't  you  know  it  took  two  to  make  an 
organ  go  ?  It's  like  most  everything  else  in  this 
world.  It  takes  head  to  play  it,  but  head  ain't 
'no  use,  if  there  ain't  hands  somewhere  round, 
pumpin'  in  Avind  enough  to  fill  them  big  pipes. 
Get  'em  full,  an'  all  the  tune  in  the  world  '11 
come  out,  if  you're  a  mind  to  play  'em.  Look 
a-there  boy.  There's  a  big  worm  gettin'  ready 
to  crawl  up  your  leg.     Pick  him  off." 

"He's  just  the  kind  I've  been  looking  for," 
said  Ainslee,  picking  up  the  worm  and  putting  it 
into  his  pocket.  "  He's  got  brown  spots  on  his 
back,  an'  he'll  make  a  very  speckled  butterfly,  I 
guess.     I'll  save  him,  an'  ask  papa." 

"  Of  all  the  boys !  "  said  Mr.  Green,  looking 
at  him  in  surprise.  "  Does  your  ma  let  you  pick 
up  big  worms  like  them  ?     You'll  get  bit." 

"No,  I  won't,"  said  Ainslee.  "They  ain't  a 
very  bity  kind.  Mamma  likes  worms  most  as 
well  as  papa.  I  had  a  little  yellow  one  in  my 
other  pocket,  but  it  isn't  there  now.  I  guess  it 
crawled  out." 

"  I  guess  you  can  crawl  out  pretty  soon,"  said 
Mr.  Green,  pointing  with  his  whip  to  the  school- 
house,  which  could  just  be  seen  in  the  distance. 


THREE  LITTLE  PIGS.  369 

"  What  made  you  want  to  come   to  school  so 
bad?" 

"  Why,  the  Dezamination  ;  didn't  you  know  ?  " 
said  Ainslee,  beginning  at  once  an  account  of 
what  was  to  be,  cut  short  when  not  half  finished 
by  arrival  at  the  school-house  door,  where  half  a 
dozen  children  stood  looking  out,  to  see  what  this 
queer  black  lump  in  tlie  bottom  of  Mr.  Green's 
wagon  could  be. 

"  It's  squashes,  summer  squashes,  I  guess," 
said  Sampson.  "  He  told  my  father  he'd  got 
the  best  kind  o'  squashes,  an'  maybe  he's  done 
'em  up  to  keep  'em  from  getting  wet.  'Tain't 
squashes,"  he  added,  suddenly,  as  Ainslee  rolled 
out.     "  It's  a  big  pumpkin-head." 

"  Samp's  getting  smart,"  said  Tommy  Martin, 
as  Sampson,  who  did  not  speak  to  Ainslee  now 
if  he  could  help  it,  walked  back  to  the  school- 
room. 

"  I  say,  Ainslee,  I  thouglit  you  was  over  to 
your  uncle's.  How'd  you  come  ?  Mr.  Green 
bring  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  Ainslee  said,  handing  back  the  rubber 
coat  to  Mr.  Green,  who  drove  on  toward  the 
village.  "  I  felt  awful  'cause  I  thought  I  couldn't 
come,  an'  I  did  come  after  all.  I've  got  to  study 
out  o'  your  book,  Sinny,  'cause  mine's  at 
grandma's." 

24 


370  THE  AINSLKE  STORIES. 

"  No  it  ain't,"  said  Sinny.  "  Anyway  your 
Speller  ain't ;  yon  dropped  it  out  o'  your  strap 
going  home  Friday,  an'  I  picked  it  up.  Ain't 
you  glad  ?  " 

"  What'll  I  do  ?  "  said  Ainslee,  Avho  had  been 
looking  very  blank  while  Sinny  spoke.  "  There 
was  my  dinner  Aunt  Sarah  fixed,  an'  papa  said 
he'd  put  it  in  the  coat  pocket,  an'  now  Mr. 
Green's  gone  away  with  it." 

"  I've  got  lots,"  said  Sinny.  "  You  can  have 
some  o'  mine." 

"  An'  mine,  too,"  Amanda  added.  "  I'll  give 
you  half  o'  mine,  Ainslee." 

"  So'll  I,"  said  Tommy;  and  Ainslee,  in  a  fair 
way  to  have  plenty  of  dinner,  even  if  his  own 
was  riding  off  in  Mr.  Green's  wagon,  walked 
in  and  took  his  place,  just  in  time.  Ann  Smith, 
the  little  girl  from  the  toll-gate,  was  there,  and 
looked  surprised  at  seeing  him,  but  could  say 
nothing,  because  Miss  Barrett  began  calling  the 
roll  in  a  very  sharp  voice,  as  if  something  were 
the  matter  with  her. 

"  She's  cross,"  said  Ainslee  to  himself,  looking 
at  her.  "She  most  always  is  cross  Mondays. 
Maybe  she'll  make  me  miss  my  spelling,  snap- 
ping at  me." 

Spurred  on  by  this  thought,  Ainslee  opened 
his    book,  as   soon    as  the  chapter  in  the  Bible 


THREE  LITTLE   PIGS.  371 

ended,  and  began  on  the  column  of  words,  of 
which  he  had  spoken  to  Jack,  and  which  he 
studied  in  a  loud  whisper,  rocking  back  and 
forth,  and  slapping  his  breast  with  one  hand. 
Studying,  or  indeed  doing  any  kind  of  hard 
work  perseveringly,  makes  the  time  fly,  and  the 
spelling  class  was  called  before  he  had  begun 
on  the  multiplication-table.  He  liked  this  better 
now  than  ever  before,  because  Miss  Barrett  had 
taught  them  to  sing  it,  and  on  Wednesday  after- 
noons they  marched  around  the  school-room, 
keeping  time  to  the  tune.  Ainslee  only  knew 
as  far  as  "  four  times  five,"  but  shouted  all  the 
louder  when  there  were  no  more  words  he  could 
say. 

To-day  he  meant  to  finish  the  table  of  Fours, 
if  he  could,  and  went  to  work  at  once,  when  he 
had  spelled.  Recess  interrupted  him,  and  then, 
as  it  still  rained,  Amanda  and  Sinny  retired 
to  the  highest  seat  in  the  back  of  the  school- 
room, and  listened  to  Ainslee's  account  of  his 
visit  at  Uncle  John's.  Miss  Barrett  knocked  on 
the  desk  before  he  had  half  finished  telhng  about 
Pop,  and  Ainslee  went  back  to  the  little  bench, 
feeling  not  quite  so  bright  as  before  recess. 
Sinny  had  taken  the  card  to  study  his  own  table, 
and  there  remained  only  the  Spelling-book,  and 
Sinny's  very  tattered  and  torn  Reader,  every  leaf 


372  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

of  Avliich  curled  up  at  each  end,  as  if  just  ready 
for  a  8[)it-ball. 

Ainslee  looked  through  this,  and  then  took  up 
the  spellino-  again,  but  could  not  get  interested  in 
it.  The  school-room  windows  Avere  shut  tight  to 
keep  out  the  rain,  and  the  air  felt  hot  and  close. 
Miss  Barrett  scowled  over  her  desk  down  at  the 
little  bench,  as  if  she  had  made  up  her  mind  that 
some  mischief  would  be  going  on  before  long, 
which  she  must  nip  in  the  bud.  Sam])son  crowded 
against  him,  and  Ainslee  began  to  wish  he  Avere 
going  home  at  noon,  instead  of  staying  through 
the  three  long  afternoon  hours.  Sinny  presently 
slipped  over  a  little  bit  of  spruce  gum,  and  he 
found  much  comfort  in  chewing  this,  till  he  was 
called  up  to  say  his  tables.  Sinny  and  he  were 
quite  perfect  up  to  four  times  nine,  and  so  were 
Amanda  and  little  Sarah  Jones,  and  Sampson 
found  himself  with  two  bad  marks  and  at  the 
foot  of  the  class,  Avhen  the  lesson  was  over. 

"  Anyway,  Ainslee  Barton  kept  a  jogglin' 
me,  so't  I  couldn't  study  nor  nothin',"  he  said  ; 
"  I  wish  I  sat  on  another  bench." 

"  I  never  did,"  Ainslee  exclaimed.  "  He 
joggled  me  awful." 

"  You're  both  bad  boys,"  said  Miss  Barrett. 
"  This  afternoon,  Sampson,  you  sit  in  that  empty 
seat  behind,  and  Ainslee  you'll  have  to  have  a 
bad  mark  if  vou  don't  behave." 


THREE  LITTLE  PIGS.  373 

"  I  do  behave,"  Ainslee  said,  sitting  down 
again,  with  a  wish  that  he  or  somebody  might 
give  Sampson  such  a  punching  that  he  would 
never  tell  a  lie  again.  When  noon  came,  a  few 
moments  later,  he  was  quite  ready  to  do  some- 
tliing  harder  than  "joggling,"  but  Samp,  who  sus- 
pected this,  ran  off",  and  did  not  appear  again  till 
one  o'clock.  Miss  Barrett  staid,  and  would  have 
no  noise,  because  her  head  ached,  she  said,  so 
that  those  who  had  brought  their  dinner,  and 
to-day  almost  all  had,  were  limited  to  talking  for 
amusement. 

Ainslee  was  very  hungry,  for  the  ride  had 
given  him  a  great  appetite,  and  then,  you  know, 
he  had  eaten  very  little  breakfast,  and  so,  though 
Amanda  and  Tommy  and  Sinny  were  as  good  as 
their  word,  and  each  gave  him  some  of  their 
luncheon,  he  did  not  have  half  enough,  and 
wished  he  had  not  pi'omised  to  stay  all  day. 

Amanda  made  a  paper  doll  out  of  a  bit  of 
newspaper,  and  Sinny  chewed  a  piece  of  one  of 
his  mother's  old  india-rubbers,  and  pinched  it 
into  a  pig,  which  looked  so  natural,  that  even 
big  Stephen  Jones  admired  it,  and  devoted  the 
last  bit  of  his  bread  to  the  same  purpose,  so  that 
before  the  bell  rang  again,  there  were  three  little 
pigs,  one  black,  and  two  an  agreeable  whity- 
bi'own,  standing  in  front  of  the  inkstand  on  his 
desk. 


374  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

If  Stephen  liad  lived  iu  New  York,  or  even  in 
Boston,  lie  mifrht  have  had  trouble  in  gettino;  his 
pigs  to  stay  together.  Baker's  bread  dries  and 
tumbles  apart,  no  matter  how  long  one  maj  have 
pinched  it,  and  so  does  any  other  sort  but  real 
home-made  bi'ead,  such  as  perhaps  many  of  you 
know  nothing  about. 

Stephen,  though,  had  it  every  day  of  his  life  ; 
sweet,  tender,  wholesome  food,  such  as  I  Avish 
every  little  and  big  child  might  always  eat,  and 
never  again  the  dry  chips,  that  even  the  best  of 
baker's  bread  becomes,  when  a  day  old.  So 
if  any  of  you  who  live  in  cities  want  a  first- 
class  pig,  somebody  must  first  make  home-made 
bread,  and  then  with  a  bit  of  the  soft  part,  you 
can  in  time  pinch  out,  certainly  a  pig  —  possibly 
an  elephant. 

"  Let  me  have  'em,  all  three,"  said  Sinny,  as 
Miss  Barrett  drew  her  chair  up  to  the  table. 

"  You'll  be  cutting  up  with  them  all  the  after- 
noon," said  Stephen. 

"No  I  won't;  I  want  'em  to  take  home," 
Sinny  answered,  slipping  them  into  his  pocket,  as 
Stephen  said  nothing  more,  and  taking  his  place 
by  Ainslee,  who  was  so  relieved  to  have  Samp- 
son away,  that  he  felt  quite  happy  again. 

The  desks,  as  I  have  told  you  before,  rose 
gradually  to  the  back  of  the  room,  each  one  a 


THREE  LITTLE  PIGS.  375 

little  higher  than  the  last,  and  the  youngest 
children  sat  in  front  on  a  low  bench ;  so  low,  that 
the  knees  of  those  in  the  desk  behind,  were  al- 
most on  a  level  with  the  heads  of  those  in  front. 
There  was  an  open  space  between  this  low  bench 
and  the  top  board  which  made  the  back  of  the 
desk,  and  any  one  sitting  behind  could  by  stoop- 
ing touch  the  little  ones  in  front,  without  any 
trouble.  By  this  you  will  see  there  was  nothing 
for  Ainslee  to  rest  his  back  against,  and  how  tire- 
some it  would  grow,  to  sit  still  two  or  three  hours 
at  a  time. 

Ainslee  sat  up  straight  when  the  roll  was 
called,  and  thought  he  would  try  to  be  a  very 
good  boy,  but  he  was  tired  of  being  in-doors  so 
long ;  the  spelling  lesson  seemed  very  tedious, 
and  when  the  reading  class  of  big  boys  and  girls, 
which  quite  hid  the  little  ones  from  Miss  Barrett, 
was  called,  he  laid  down  his  Spelling-book  on  the 
end  of  the  bench  where  Sampson  had  sat,  and 
turned  to  Sinny,  who  had  taken  the  three  pigs 
from  his  pocket,  and  set  them  up  beside  him. 

"  What  you  goin'  to  do  ?  "  he  whispered. 

"  See  which  one'll  stand  up  the  longest,"  said 
Sinny.  "  I've  got  o'  lot  o'  spit-balls,  and  I'm 
goin'  to  fire  'em  at  'em,  an'  the  one  that  stands 
up  the  longest  is  the  best  fellow." 

"  No,"    whispered   Ainslee,    "  spit-balls   ain't 


376  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

nice.  Let's  play  we're  driving  tliem  to  market, 
an'  they  won't  go  any  way  we  want  'em  to." 

"  Well,"  said  Sinny,  putting  down  his  Reader 
and  setting  the  pigs  on  it.  "  Hi-yah  now  !  that 
ain't  the  way  you've  got  to  go,"  and  Sinny  began 
a  drive  over  the  Reader,  where  the  black  pig 
tumbled  on  the  white,  and  the  white  ran  back- 
wards, and  then  stood  on  its  head,  and  would  not 
move  forward  at  all,  till  Sinny  had  held  it  by  its 
tail  and  made  dreadful  faces  at  it. 

Mind,  I  do  not  say  this  was  right,  but  it  Avas 
very  hot  and  close  in  the  school-room,  and  very 
weary  work  for  half  a  dozen  little  children  to  sit 
still  as  mice,  and  so  I  for  one,  do  not  wonder 
that  Amanda  and  Sarah,  and  Sinny  and  Ainslee, 
were  very  soon  in  the  mischief  I  am  telling  you 
about,  and  in  such  danger  of  laughing  aloud,  that 
they  had  to  hold  their  hands  over  their  mouths. 

All  this  time  the  Spelling-book  lay  on  the 
end  of  the  bench,  and  Sampson,  who  had  tried 
in  vain  to  see  what  was  going  on,  and  wished 
he  had  staid  in  his  own  place,  spied  it  at  last, 
as  he  stooped  down  to  look  under,  and  pulled  it 
through  to  his  own  desk.  There  was  no  fun  in 
this,  though,  for  Ainslee  did  not  turn  around,  and 
presently  Sampson,  looking  down  the  columns, 
had  a  new  idea,  which  he  carried  out  at  once. 
He  turned  first  to  see  if  any  one  was  looking, 


THREE  LITTLE  PIGS.  377 

and  finding  that  all  who  might  see  seemed  busy 
with  lessons  or  reciting,  spit  suddenly  on  the  last 
column  of  the  three  on  which  Ainslee  had  been 
working  so  long,  and  then  tore  off  the  last  four  or 
five  words,  rolling  up  the  little  piece  into  a  ball, 
and  pushing  it  to  the  very  back  of  the  desk. 
Then  he  put  it  back  on  the  bench,  and  waited, 
with  his  heart  beating  quite  fast,  for  Ainslee  to 
turn  around.  He  had  not  thought  yet  what  to 
say,  in  case  Ainslee  shoukl  at  once  speak  to  Miss 
Barrett.  The  only  thought  that  had  come  was, 
to  do  something  which  should  make  him  miss, 
and  send  him  to  the  foot  of  the  class,  where 
Sampson  spent  tlie  greater  part  of  the  time. 

So  he  waited  now,  expecting  each  moment  to 
see  the  book  taken  up,  and  growing  more  and 
more  frio;htened  as  he  thouiilit  of  what  might 
haj^pen. 

The  reading  lesson  went  on,  for  Miss  Barrett 
was  drilling  her  older  scholars  for  the  coming 
Wednesday,  and  each  one  had  to  read  his  or  her 
paragraph  over  and  over,  before  she  was  satisfied. 
At  last  it  ended,  and  she  called,  "  third  class  in 
spelling,  take  their  places." 

The  four  little  sinners  on  the  small  bench 
started,  as  the  other  class  filed  by  them.  Sinny 
stuffed  the  three  pigs  into  his  pocket,  and  Ains- 
lee, sure  that  he  knew  the  lesson  perfectly,  seized 


378  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

the  book  without  looking  at  it,  and  toed  the  mark 
fast  as  he  coukl. 

"  Where's  my  Speller,"  said  Miss  Barrett, 
tumbling  over  the  books  on  her  desk.  "  Never 
mind  ;  I  can't  liunt  for  it  now.  Hand  me  yours, 
Ainslee." 

Ainslee  handed  up  the  book,  and  then  stood 
still,  half  smiling,  as  he  thought  how  Jack  and 
Lizzie  would  have  laughed,  if  they  could  have 
seen  those  three  pigs.  There  was  such  a  strange 
silence,  that,  still  smiling,  he  looked  up  at  last  to 
see  what  it  meant,  and  found  Miss  Barrett's  eyes 
fixed  sternly  upon  him. 

"  So  you  laugh,  do  you,  you  naughty  boy  ?  " 
she  said.  "  How  dare  you  do  such  a  thing  as 
this?  Come  here  this  minute,"  and  Miss  Bar- 
rett lifted  her  ruler. 

"  I  haven't  done  anything,"  Ainslee  said,  in 
surprise,  and  then  remembering  how  he  had  been 
playing  a  few  minutes  before,  colored  deeply, 
though  he  still  met  her  eye. 

"  Don't  lie,"  said  Miss  Barrett,  pushing  back 
her  chair.  "  You  know  you're  telling  a  lie,  or 
you  "wouldn't  turn  so  red.  You've  lost  all  your 
good  marks,  sir,  and  have  got  to  be  feruled." 

"I  only  played  a  little,  'cause  I  was  tired," 
said  Ainslee,  beginning  to  cry. 

"  Only  played  a  little  ?  "  repeated  Miss  Bar- 


THREE  LITTLE  PIGS.  379 

rett,  holding  up  the  book,  so  that  Ainslee  for  the 
first  time  saw  what  had  happened.  "  So  you 
call  it  playing,  to  spit  on  your  book  and  then  tear 
it,  do  you,  bad  boy  ?  " 

"  I  never  did,"  said  Ainslee,  indignantly.  "  I 
keep  my  books  nice.  Somebody  hateful  did  ;  I 
didn't." 

"Take  care,"  said  Miss  Barrett.  "  There's  a 
great  wet  place  here.  If  you  didn't  do  it,  who 
did?     DidSinny?" 

"No,  he  didn't,"  said  Ainslee.  "The  book 
wasn't  anywhere  near  him." 

"  How  do  you  know  it  wasn't  ?  "  asked  Miss 
Barrett,  while  every  boy  and  girl  in  school  paid 
the  strictest  attention,  wondering  how  things 
would  come  out. 

"  'Cause  I  put  it  on  the  end  where  he  wasn't," 
said  Ainslee. 

"  Well,  perhaps  he  took  it  when  you  were  not 
looking,"  Miss  Barrett  went  on. 

"  He  couldn't,"  Ainslee  replied,  after  some 
hesitation,  "  for  I  was  looking  at  him  an'  the  pigs 
all  the  time." 

"  The  pigs  ! "  repeated  Miss  Barrett.  "  Well, 
perhaps  I  will  get  at  something,  some  time  to- 
day. Come  up  here,  both  of  you.  What  pigs 
does  he  mean,  Simeon  Smith?  " 

"Mine,"  said  Sinny,  pulling  the  three  from  his 


380  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

pocket,  and  putting  them  clown  before  lier. 
"  We  played  with  'em  some,  when  you  was 
hearin'  the  readin'." 

"  Wicked  boys !  "  said  Miss  Barrett.  "  If 
you  were  playing  with  pigs,  it's  more  than  likely 
you  played  with  your  book.  Did  any  one  in 
school  spit  on  Ainslee  Barton's  book  ?  " 

Dead  silence. 

"  Maybe  Samp  did,"  hinted  Sinny,  as  Miss 
Barrett  looked  about  the  room. 

"  He's  in  the  seat  behind  :  he  couldn't,"  said 
she.  "  Sampson  Simmons,  did  you  spit  on  Ains- 
lee Barton's  book  ?  " 

"  No  ma'am,"  came  from  Sampson,  who, 
dreading  the  feruling  which  would  be  sure  to 
follow  if  he  told  the  truth,  preferred  to  lie,  feel- 
ing very  sure  no  one  had  seen  him. 

"  I  didn't  suppose  he  did,"  said  Miss  Barrett, 
once  more  taking  up  the  ruler.  "  Hold  out  your 
hand,  Ainslee  Barton." 

"  I  won't,"  said  Ainslee,  with  flashing  f  yes, 
and  too  excited  now  to  cry.  "  I  don't  tell  lies  ; 
you  know  I  don't.     I  won't  hold  out  my  hand." 

"  We'll  see  if  you  won't,"  said  Miss  Barrett, 
angrily,  pulling  him  up  to  her.  "  Hold  out  your 
hand  this  minute." 

"  I  won't !  I  won't !  "  screamed  Ainslee. 
Sinny  and  Amanda  began  to  cry,  and  one  of  the 
big  boys  called,  "  Shame  !  " 


THREE  LITTLE  PIGS.  381 

Miss  Barrett  caught  his  hand,  and  tried  to 
bring  the  ruler  down  upon  it,  but  Ainslee  pulled 
back  so  strono-lv,  that  her  own  knuckles  received 
the  hardest  blow.  Quite  beside  herself  now 
■with  passion,  she  boxed  his  ears  furiously,  and 
then  shaking  him  till  she  could  shake  no  longer, 
seated  him  on  the  yellow  stool  near  her. 

"  We'll  see  if  you'll  act  like  that  again,"  she 
said.     Now,  Simeon  Smith,  hold  out  your  hand." 

Sinny  took  his  feruling  almost  without  crying, 
except  for  Ainslee,  who  sat  still  on  his  stool,  with 
red  face  and  tumbled  hair,  but  such  a  determined 
look,  that  Miss  Barrett,  who  had  grown  cooler, 
hardly  knew  whether  to  think  it  obstinacy  or 
honesty.  Whatever  it  was,  she  would  conquer 
such  a  temper,  she  said  to  herself,  and  she  called 
up  another  class.  Lessons  went  badly,  however. 
The  children  looked  sympathizingly  at  Ainslee, 
who  looked  at  nobody,  but  sat  as  if  his  thoughts 
•were  very  far  away.  Miss  Barrett  hurried 
through  the  recitation,  and  then  touched  the 
bell  for  recess.  The  rain  had  stopped,  and  all 
ran  out  to  gather  about  the  door-step  and  discuss 
the  matter,  while  Miss  Barrett  turned  to  Ainslee. 

"  What  made  you  do  such  a  thing  ?  "  she  said. 

No  answer. 

"  What  made  you  do  such  a  thing  ?  "  repeated 
she.  "  I  don't  want  to  whip  you,  when  you're 
not  a  bad  boy." 


382  THE  AINSLEE   STORIES. 

Still  no  answei',  and  Miss  Barrett  turned  away 
excitedly.  "  I  shall  go  home  with  you,  and  tell 
your  Ma  exactly  how  it  was,"  she  said.  "  I 
don't  want  such  a  bad  boy  in  my  school  any 
longer,"  and  she  struck  the  desk  sharply  to  call 
in  the  children,  who  came  in  fast,  looking  curi- 
ously at  Ainslee.  How  long  that  last  hour  seemed 
to  him  as  he  sat  on  the  stool,  ready  to  break 
down  and  cry  any  moment,  if  only  mamma  had 
been  at  home  to  run  to  at  once.  He  was  not 
certain  how  grandma  M'onld  receive  the  story, 
and  grew  less  so  as  he  walked  along  by  jMiss 
Barrett  after  school.  Sinny  followed  close  be- 
hind, but  went  no  further  than  the  kitchen, 
where  he  stopped  to  tell  Ann,  while  Miss  Bar- 
rett walked  around  to  the  front  door,  and  rang 
the  bell.     Grandma  herself  answered  it. 

"  Ainslee  I  "  she  said,  astonished.  "  Why, 
where  did  you  come  from  ?  Where's  3'our 
mother?  " 

Miss  Barrett  gave  him  no  time  to  answer,  but 
whisking  into  the  parlor,  sat  down,  and  told  her 
stor3^ 

"  I  hardly  think  Ainslee  would  deny  it,  if  he 
had  done  it,"  said  grandpa,  Avho  had  come  in, 
silently  ;  "  it  is  not  like  him.  I  will  ask  him, 
myself  Ainslee,  my  boy,  did  you  tear  your 
book  ?  " 


THREE  LITTLE  PIGS.  383 

"  No,  grandpa,"  said  Ainslee,  simply ;  and 
grandpa,  looking  into  his  honest  eyes,  could  not 
but  believe  him. 

"  Of  course  he'd  say  '  no '  to  you,  and  of 
course  it's  very  natural  you  should  take  his 
part,"  said  Miss  Barrett,  her  tone  growing  a  lit- 
tle milder,  as  grandpa  looked  steadily  at  her. 

"  I  am  extremely  sorry  his  father  and  mother 
are  not  at  home  to-day,"  said  grandpa.  "  They 
will  be  here  to-morrow  at  latest,  I  think  ;  in  the 
mean  time,  so  far  as  I  can  judge  from  your  own 
statement,  Ainslee  has  hardly  been  treated  with 
fairness.  Pardon  me  for  saying,  that  though  cir- 
cumstances were  somewhat  against  him,  you  had 
no  right  to  punish  till  you  had  examined  the 
matter  more  fully.  Justice  to  a  child  is  quite  as 
essential  as  justice  to  a  man  ;  and  if  you  find 
yourself  mistaken,  I  am  very  sure  you  will  regret 
this  sincerely." 

"  I'm  not  in  the  least  likely  to,"  said  Miss 
Barrett,  rising.  "  And  I  must  say,  Mr.  Walton, 
I  didn't  expect  to  see  you  helping  a  child  out  in 
impudence  and  disobedience,  to  say  nothing  of 
lying,"  and  opening  the  door,  she  had  gone  be- 
fore grandpa  could  add  anything  more. 

Ainslee  had  thrown  himself  face  down  on 
grandma's  lounge,  and  was  crying  as  if  his  heart 
would  break,  when  grandpa,  after  a  few  minutes' 


384  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

walking  iip  and  clown  tlx^  parlor,  went  back  to 
the  bedroom. 

"  I  wish  mamma  were  here,"  he  said,  sitting 
down  by  Ainslee,  "  but  she  soon  will  be,  I  think. 
Don't  cry  so,  my  boy.  You  needn't  cry  if  yon 
didn't  do  it." 

"  'Tisn't  that  ■:—  only  part,"  said  Ainslee,  sitting 
up  suddenly.  "  I  don't  care  for  her  pounding 
and  shaking  me.  But  I  felt  so  good  this  morning 
to  think  Mr.  Green  brought  me,  an'  I  wouldn't 
have  to  miss  my  lessons  nor  nothin',  an'  now  — 
an'  now  —  I  don't  want  —  ever  to  go  to  her 
school  again,"  and  Ainslee  swallowed  a  great  sob 
which  almost  choked  him. 

"  Well,"  said  grandpa,  wait  till  mamma  comes, 
and  do  as  she  says.  Come  out  in  the  garden 
now,  and  we  will  see  how  fast  everything  has 
grown  in  the  rain." 

Ainslee  wiped  his  eyes  presently,  and  followed 
grandpa,  but  neither  walking  nor  talking,  nor  the 
best  luncheon  Ann  could  give  him,  did  him  very 
much  good,  and  when  just  before  sunset,  old  Pete 
drove  up,  and  mamma  and  papa  came  in,  Ainslee 
had  no  voice  to  tell  his  trouble,  but  ran  into  her 
arms,  and  sobbed  as  he  hardly  had  before.  Papa's 
eyes  grew  very  bright  and  dark  as  he  listened. 

"  I  will  see  about  it  to-morrow,"  he  said,  "  when 
all  the  children  are  together.  You  go  no  more 
to  that  school." 


THREE   LITTLE  PIGS.  385 

"  I'm  glad  o'  that,"  said  Ainslee.  "  I  couldn't 
say  any  more  lessons  to  her,  papa,  but  —  but  — 
only  think  how  drefful  hard  I  studied  my  lessons 
for  the  Dezamination,  an'  my  piece,  an'  every- 
thing.    O  papa !  " 

"  It  is  very  hard  to  be  so  disappointed,"  said 
papa  ;  "  very  hard,  indeed,  and  it  is  no  comfort  to 
tell  you,  that  we  all  have  to  suffer  in  the  same 
way  sometimes  as  we  go  through  the  world.  It 
is  a  comfort,  though,  to  know  that  so  long  as  we 
are  right,  no  real  harm  can  be  done  us.  You 
know  you  did  not  tell  a  lie,  and  so  you  can  bear 
this  better  than  if  you  had." 

"I  know  that,"  said  Ainslee,  "but  it  don't 
make  me  want  to  go  to  school  any  more." 

There  was  no  comfort  for  this  trouble,  and 
though  all  did  their  best  to  cheer  him,  he  went 
to  bed  early,  heavy-hearted. 

Between  eight  and  nine  o'clock,  papa,  sitting 
in  the  front  door,  heard  foot-steps  coming  around 
the  house,  and  looked  up  to  see  the  old  bridge- 
keeper's  son,  father  to  the  little  girl  who  some- 
times took  tolls. 

"  I  h'ain't  but  a  minute,  Mr.  Barton,"  he  said ; 
"  but  my  little  gal  told  me  about  your  boy,  an' 
bein'  down  in  the  village,  I  conclvided  to  stop, 
goin'  home.  He  ain't  none  to  blame  about  the 
book,  whatever  else  he  did." 


386  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

"What  does  your  little  girl  know  about  it?'* 
asked  Mr.  Barton. 

"  She  says  she  see  Sampson  Simmons  a-spittin' 
on  a  book,  an'  tearin'  off  a  piece,"  Smith  an- 
swered. "  She  was  in  the  readin'  class,  an'  hap- 
pened to  look  round,  an'  he  was  doin'  it  then. 
Ann  would  a-told  on  it,  when  Miss  Barrett  was 
whackin'  him  round,  but  she  was  skeery  for  fear 
her  turn  might  come  next,  so  she  kep'  still,  an' 
only  told  me  when  she  came  home.  She's  a  good 
enough  teacher,  but  she's  awful  sassy  Avhen  her 
temper's  up.  You'll  have  her  turned  off,  I 
reckon  ;  "  and  Smith  walked  on,  leaving  Mr.  Bar- 
ton glad,  indeed,  that  there  seemed  a  way  of 
straightenino;  thino;s. 

Ainslee  was  very  quiet  when  morning  came, 
and  looked  surprised  enough  when  papa  told  him 
to  get  ready  for  school.  "  You  need  not  stay, 
you  know,  unless  you  like,"  he  said,  and  Ainslee, 
sure  that  something  good  was  coming,  ran  for  his 
cap,  and  walked  on  by  papa. 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  he  was  goin'  to  lick 
Miss  Barrett,"  said  Sinny,  who  came  behind 
with  Tommy  jMartin,  and  this  opinion  travelling 
on  through  Amanda  to  several  others  in  front, 
gained  such  ground,  that  the  few  in  the  school- 
room fully  expected  to  see  Mr.  Barton  walk  in 
with  a  great  stick  in  liis  hand,  and  possibly  ruler 
Miss  Barrett  on  both  hands. 


THREE  lylTTLE  PIGS.  387 

Miss  Barrett  herself  looked  extremely  doubtful 
as  she  returned  his  "  Good  morning,"  and  took 
no  notice  of  Ainslee,  who  staid  close  by  his  fa- 
ther. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  interrupt  the  usual  order  of 
school,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  when  the  scholars  had 
all  assembled.  "  But  if  you  will  allow  me,  Miss 
Barrett,  there  are  one  or  two  questions  I  would 
like  to  ask." 

Miss  Barrett  said  something  which  might  be 
either  yes  or  no,  and  pointed  to  a  chair. 

"  Is  that  Ann  Smith  ?  "  he  said,  sitting  down. 
"  Yes,  I  see  it  is.  Come  here,  and  do  not  be  at 
all  afraid,  my  dear.  Sampson  Simmons,  come 
and  stand  by  her.  Now,  Ann,  tell  me  exactly 
what  you  saw  yesterday." 

Sampson,  who  had  come  forward,  terribly  fright- 
ened, and  yet  sure  nobody  knew,  grew  red  and 
then  pale,  as  Ann,  in  a  very  few  words,  told  ex- 
actly what  had  happened. 

"Now  answer,  sir,  at  once,"  said  Mr.  Barton, 
turning  to  him,  and  looking,  as  Tommy  said 
afterward,  just  like  lightning.  "  Did  you  tear 
Ainslee's  book  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Sampson,  in  a  flood  of  tears,  "but 
I  didn't  mean  him  to  get  hcked." 

"  That  is  all,"  said  Mr.  Barton,  rising.  "  You 
will  take  whatever  course  seems  best  to  you.  Miss 


388  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

Barrett.  Do  you  want  to  stay  this  morning, 
Ainslee  ?  " 

"No, sir,"  said  Ainslee,  "I  want  to  go  home," 
and  he  walked  out  with  papa,  glad  that  all  should 
know  the  truth,  and  yet  sighing,  as  the  little 
school-house  was  left  behind,  that  such  a  change 
should  have  come  in  one  day. 

Sampson  was  whipped  and  sent  home  in  dis- 
grace. Miss  Barrett  said  nothing  then  of  her 
intentions.  The  Examination  passed  off  tolera- 
bly well,  and  vacation  began,  but  when  the  Com- 
mittee met,  in  the  afternoon  of  Wednesday, 
a  note  Avas  handed  them  from  Miss  Barrett,  re- 
signing her  place,  and  as  Mr.  Martin  was  the 
head  man  on  this  Committee,  and  had  heard  the 
whole  story  of  Ainslee's  trouble  from  Tommy  and 
Amanda,  you  may  be  sure  she  was  not  asked  to 
change  her  mind. 

So  Ainslee's  first  teacher  passed  out  from  any 
connection  with  his  little  life,  though  some  of  you 
may  think,  as  I  do,  that  the  memory  of  her  un- 
just action  Avill  be  a  sore  spot  in  his  memory  for 
many  a  long  year  to  come,  however  fully  he  may 
forgive  her,  or  however  well  he  may  know  that, 
if  the  three  little  pigs  had  staid  in  Sinny's  pocket, 
the  trouble  very  likely  might  not  have  come. 
Sampson  you  will  hear  no  more  about,  for  this 
5'ear  at  any  rate,  and  so,  one  by  one,  we  are 


THREE  LITTLE  PIGS.  389 

leaving  behind  the  big  and  little  people  with 
whom  we  have  had  to  do,  and  very  soon,  sooner 
than  I  like  to  think,  we  must  say  good-by  to 
Ainslee  himself.     Shall  you  be  sorry  ?     I  shall. 


XXI. 

THE  END. 

Everybody  was  in  the  summer-house,  grand- 
pa and  grandma  Walton,  mamma  and  papa,  Ains- 
lee  and  Bertie.  Grandma  sat  in  a  rocking-chair 
grandpa  had  brought  out  for  her,  and  knit  on  a 
speckled  red  stocking,  to  be  Bertie's  by  and  by, 
while  grandpa  cut  at  a  veiy  small  something, 
which  Ainslee  watched  curiously.  Mamma  was 
knitting  too,  bright  worsteds,  which  would  veiy 
soon  turn  into  what  Ainslee  called  a  "  RafFgan," 
and  some  of  you  who  know  better,  would  say  was 
an  Affghan. 

Papa  had  a  big  book,  and  read  or  talked,  and 
Ainslee  listened  when  he  heard  anything  about 
animals,  or  ran  from  grandpa,  to  look  at  the  pic- 
tures with  which  the  book  was  filled.  It  was 
"  Livingstone's  Travels  in  Africa,"  and  though  a 
good  deal  of  it  he  could  not  understand,  yet  it 
was  very  nice  to  find  out  what  the  pictures  meant, 
and  think  about  them  when  the  big  words  came. 

Bertie  sat  on  the  floor  with  his  blocks,  which 
made  periods  sometimes  where   Dr.  Livingstone 


THE  END.  391 

had  not  put  them,  for  when  they  were  piled  up, 
high  as  they  could  be,  Bertie  knocked  them  down, 
and  shouted  for  everybody  to  look.  Papa  stop- 
ped several  times,  but  said  -at  last,  — 

"  Take  him  into  the  garden,  Ainslee,  and  run 
up  and  down  the  paths,  till  I  finish  this  chapter, 
and  then  I  will  go  up  to  the  dove-house  with 
you.'' 

Ainslee,  who  had  half  hesitated  when  papa  be- 
gan, ran  out  at  once  when  the  dove-house  was 
mentioned,  and  Bei'tie  ran  after.  He  could  really 
run  now,  for  he  was  almost  two  years  old,  and 
ready  for  a  "  folic,"  any  minute,  and  now  such  a 
play  began  about  the  old  summer-house,  that 
papa  almost  wished  both  had  staid  in  it.  Ainslee 
hid  behind  a  grape-vine  and  called  Bertie  to  find 
him,  who  did  it  in  half  a  minute,  and  then  hid 
directly  in  the  very  same  place,  sure  that 
Ainslee  never  would  think  of  looking  there. 
Then  Ainslee  ran  about,  calling  "Where  is  Ber- 
tie ?  I  can't  find  Bertie  ;  Bertie  all  gone,"  and 
looking  behind  the  rose-bushes,  and  lifting  up  the 
leaves  of  the  very  grape-vine,  but  never  seeing 
him,  you  may  be  sure,  till  a  wonderful  squeal 
was  heard,  and  Bertie  ran  right  into  him,  and 
then  laughed  as  if  such  a  joke  never  had  been 
heard  of  before. 


392  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

Then  Ainslee  made  a  very  low  boAv,  which 
always  delisrhted  him,  and  said, —  "How  do  you 
do,  Mr.  Barton  ?  How  do  you  do,  sir  ? "  and 
Bertie  nodded  his  little  head  till  he  staoforered, 
and  answered,  "  I  pitty  well." 

Then  a  very  small,  yellow  and  white,  hairy 
caterpillar,  going  on  a  gallop  over  a  cabbage  leaf, 
was  suddenly  stoj)ped,  and  Bertie,  sitting  down  in 
the  path,  held  out  his  fat  arm,  and  let  the  cater- 
pillar walk  up,  to  meet  a  lady-bug  which  was 
coming  down,  and  which  took  no  notice  of  him, 
but  ran  right  on  to  Bertie's  hand,  and  then 
dropped  to  the  ground. 

"  So  that  is  the  way  you  entertain  the  child," 
said  grandpa,  who,  for  the  last  minute  or  so,  had 
stood  over  them.  "  A  bug  in  his  hand,  and  a 
worm  on  his  arm." 

"  'Tisn't  a  bity  worm,"  Ainslee  said,  "  and 
it's  the  nicest  kind  o'  bug,  grandpa.  Oh  what's 
that?" 

Grandpa  handed  him  the  work  he  had  been 
doing  in  the  summer-house  ;  two  little  baskets 
cut  from  cherry  pits,  handles  and  all,  perfect  as 
could  be,  and  fastened  together  with  a  bit  of 
bright  worsted. 

"  Two  teenty,  cunning  baskets,"  said  Ainslee. 
"  Are  they  mine,  grandpa  ?  Can  I  do  what  I'm 
a  mind  to  with  'em  ?  " 


THE  END.  393 

"Yes,"  said  grandpa,  walking  on,  and  Ainslee 
ran  into  the  summer-house  to  show  them  to  mam- 
ma. 

"Just  such  ones  as  grandpa  used  to  make  for 
me,"  she  said  ;  "  and  I  used  to  hang  them  on 
Minerva's  arm." 

"Whose  arm  ?  "  said  Ainslee. 

" '  The  white  lady  with  the  owl,'  j'ou  called 
her  a  year  ago,"  mamma  went  on. 

"Oh,  I  know  —  in  the  parlor,"  said  Ainslee. 
"  I'd  hang  these  there,  but  I  want  to  give  one 
away.  Grandpa  said  I  could  do  what  I  was  a 
mind  to  with  'em,  mamma.  I  want  to  give  one 
to  Amanda." 

"  Well,"  said  mamma,  "  and  I'll  tell  you  a 
nice  little  way  to  do  it.  Bring  me  one  of  those 
four-o'clocks,  Ainslee." 

Ainslee  brought  one  in  a  moment,  and  mam- 
ma cut  the  bit  of  worsted  which  held  the  two 
baskets,  and  set  one  inside  the  flower-cup. 

"  It's  in  a  little  nest  now,  you  see,"  she  said, 
folding  the  petals  gently  about  it,  till  the  flower 
seemed  a  just  opening  bud.  "  Now  for  some  very 
flne  thread  ;  "  and  mamma  tied  a  little  bit  around 
the  flower,  just  tight  enough  to  hold  the  petals 
well  in  place. 

"When  you  go  to  Amanda's,"  she  went  on, 
"you  can  carry  this  with  some  roses  perhaps, 


394  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

and  tell  her  you  have  brought  her  a  very  queer 
flower,  which  must  be  put  in  water  right  away." 

"  I  know  just  what  to  tlo,"  interrupted  Ains- 
lee,  jumping  up  and  down.  "  Don't  tell  me  an- 
other word,  mamma,  so't  can  be  most  all  me." 

"Very  well,"  said  mamma,  laughing.  "Now 
I  am  going  in  wiui  Bertie,  while  papa  and  you 
climb  to  the  dove-house  ;  as  soon  as  that  is  over, 
you  can  wash  your  face,  and  make  your  call  on 
Amanda.  I'll  keep  the  flower  till  you  come 
back." 

"  Come  too,"  said  Ainslee.  "  Let  nurse  take 
Bertie,  and  you  come  too.     I'll  holler  to  her." 

"Not  to-day,"  mamma  said,  walking  on,  "for 
very  soon  I'm  goino;  to  the  villajre  to  do  some  er- 
rands." 

"You'll  break  your  neck,  sure  as  can  be," 
called  grandma  from  her  rocking-chair,  as  papa 
went  through  the  gate.  "  Nobody's  been  in  the 
dove-house  for  years,  not  since  Ainslee  was  a  boy." 

"We  won't  go  up  if  it  is  at  all  unsafe,"  said 
papa,  while  Ainslee  second  ran  on  before,  and 
held  the  door  open  till  he  came. 

Grandpa's  barn  was  a  very  old  one,  though 
strong  and  good  still.  Below  were  the  stalls  for 
horses  and  cattle,  and  the  great,  open  floor,  where 
threshing  was  done.  Then  came  the  hay  loft, 
and  above  that,  a  curious  sort  of  third  story,  right 


THE  END.  395 

up  in  the  roof,  under  the  ridge  pole,  and  up  to 
which  Ainslee  had  often  looked,  siffliino-  to  eet 
there.  A.  ladder  had  once  upon  a  time  led  to  it, 
but  long  ago  it  had  tumbled  to  pieces,  and  there 
were  now  no  visible  means  of  reaching  this  un- 
known  ground. 

Ainslee  scrambled  up  to  the  hay  loft,  and  then 
stood  still,  wondering  how  papa  would  manage. 

Mr.  Barton  looked  about  a  moment,  and  then 
going  to  the  door,  which  opened  into  the  little 
room  over  the  carriage-house,  unlocked  it,  and 
pulled  out  a  barrel,  which  he  set  up  secui'ely, 
where  the  hay  was  piled  up  highest,  and  then 
mounted  it.  "  Up  with  you,"  he  said,  pulling 
Ainslee  along,  and  then  lifting  him  to  the  floor 
above,  climbed  up  and  stood  by  him,  while  the 
barrel  rolled  to  tlie  foot  of  the  mow.  It  was  so 
dark,  Ainslee  could  hardly  see,  and  the  floor  of 
loose  boards  shook  so  under  their  feet,  that  he 
held  his  father's  hand  tight  as  they  walked  over 
it. 

"  No  danger,"  said  Mr.  Barton  ;  "  for  if  we 
should  fall,  it  would  only  be  into  the  hay,  you 
know.  Here's  the  little  door,"  and  he  stopped 
short  before  a  very  low  door,  which  creaked  and 
growled  on  its  rusty  hinges,  and  almost  refused 
to  be  opened,  ending  at  last  by  yielding  so  sud- 
denly, that  papa  almost  lost  his  balance.     There 


396  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

was  a  rustle  of  wings,  and  a  flutter  and  stir 
among  the  old  families,  who  had  had  quiet  pos- 
session so  long,  that  they  could  not  tell  what  to 
make  of  this  intrusion,  and  Ainslee  stood  still  a 
moment,  half  expecting  to  have  them  about  his 
ears.  Right  along  the  end  of  this  cubby-hole 
was  a  line  of  boxes,  and  he  walked  forward  and 
looked  in. 

"It's  the  nest!"  he  cried ;  "see,  papa!  little 
eggs,  and  there's  two  baby  doves.  Oh,  I  wish 
I  could  come  here  every  day  !  " 

The  mother  dove  stirred  uneasily,  as  Ainslee 
put  his  hand  down  to  touch  the  little  ones,  but 
did  not  fly  away.  Indeed,  all  of  them  had  fed  so 
long  by  the  kitchen-door,  that  I  think  they  knew 
him  very  well,  and  were  sure  he  would  do  no 
harm.  Each  box  had  a  little  arched  opening, 
and  Ainslee,  peeping  through,  could  see  grandma 
in  the  summer-house,  and  look  off"  "  over  the  hills 
and  far  away." 

"  Now  you  have  seen  the  dove-house,"  said 
papa  at  last ;  "  the  only  thing  at  grandpa's  that 
you  did  not  know  all  about  a  year  ago.  When 
you  come  here  next  summer,  perhaps  we  Avill  try 
the  climb  again." 

"  Come  next  summer ! "  repeated  Ainslee. 
*'  Sha'n't  we  stay  here  all  the  time,  papa  ?  I 
thought  we  was  going  to  live  here  always." 


THE  END.  397 

"Not  always,"  said  papa,  "but  a  good  many 
months  in  each  year,  I  hope.  We  shall  stay  till 
October,  probably,  and  then  go  home  to  New 
York.    Don't  you  want  to  see  how  it  looks  there  ?  " 

"  Not  much,"  said  Ainslee,  "  only  the  Museum 
maybe.    Can  I  go  to  the  Museum  all  I  want  to." 

"  We'll  see,"  said  papa,  shutting  the  little  door 
behind  them.  "  Now  for  a  jump,  Ainslee  !  "  and 
papa  swung  his  arms,  and  went  down  in  fine 
style  into  the  hay,  followed  at  once  by  Ainslee. 

"  Ain't  it  fun  ?  "  said  he  ;  "I  wish  we  could  do 
it  over  again." 

"  Too  choky,"  said  papa,  sliding  down  to  the 
floor  below,  and  running  out  to  the  open  air. 
"  What  will  mamma  say  when  she  sees  my 
over  coat  ?  " 

"  She'll  say  you're  most  as  bad  as  me,"  Ainslee 
answered,  pulling  off  the  bits  of  hay  which  were 
all  over  papa.  "  Now  I'm  goin'  to  Amanda's, 
papa.  I  wish  Amanda  and  Tommy  and  Sinny 
were  going  to  New  York  too.  There's  Sinny 
now,  and  he's  got  something." 

Sinny  ran  into  the  wood-house,  and  Ainslee 
after,  to  find  him  sitting  on  the  saw-horse,  with 
one  hand  beliind  him. 

"  Guess  wliat  I've  got,"  he  said  ;  "  sum'thin' 
good." 

"  I  know,"  said  Ainslee,  who  had  caught  a 
glimpse  of  it,  "it's  a  apple  ;  a  big  one." 


398  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

"  Off  tlie  new  tree,"  said  Sinny.  "  It  tumbled 
off,  an'  granther  let  me  have  it.     Bite." 

Ainslee,  whose  mouth  was  all  ready,  bit 
directly. 

"  First-rate,"  he  said.  "  We  goin'  to  take 
turns  bitin',  Sinny." 

Sinny  nodded,  and  the  "  bitin' "  went  on  till 
only  the  core  remained. 

"  Now  I'm  goin'  to  Amanda's,"  Ainslee  said  ; 
"an'  I've  got  to  have  my  face  washed.  I'll 
show  you  something  when  I  come  out,  Sinny." 

Ainslee  returned  presently  with  the  four-o'- 
clock in  his  hand,  and  as  they  walked  along, 
explained  what  he  meant  to  do.  Old  Peter 
Smith  called  Sinny  as  he  went  by  the  gate,  and 
Ainslee  walked  on  to  Mr.  Martin's,  and  round 
to  the  back  yard,  where  Tommy  and  Amanda 
were  seesawing. 

"  Here's  some  flowers,"  he  said,  "  an'  one  of 
'em's  awful  queer,  Amanda,  an'  has  got  to  be  put 
in  water  right  away." 

"  Which  one  ?  "  said  Amanda.  "  Nothin'  but 
two  four-o'clocks  an'  some  roses.  I  don't  see 
what  there  is  queer  about  them." 

"  Well,  you  get  some  water,  anyway,"  said 
Ainslee,  following  Amanda  to  the  kitchen,  where 
she  presently  brought  him  a  cracked  tea-cup, 
half  full  of  water. 


THE   END.  399 

"  I  want  some  scissors  too,"  said  he.  "  I  guess 
the  stems  are  too  long." 

Mrs.  Martin  gave  him  hers,  and  Ainslee,  while 
cutting  the  stems,  contrived  also  to  cut  the  knot 
in  the  little  thread.  The  flower  did  not  fly  open 
at  once,  because  the  thread  had  been  wound 
around  it  several  times,  and  Ainslee  put  it  with 
the  others  in  the  cup,  and  then  stood  watching, 
while  Amanda  hardly  winked,  she  was  so  anxious 
to  find  out  just  what  was  coming.  The  thread 
gradually  loosened,  and  then  suddenly  fell,  mak- 
ing it  seem  as  if  the  flower  had  truly  been  a  bud, 
and  as  the  pretty  white  petals  unfolded,  Amanda 
looked  in  astonishment  at  the  little  basket. 

"  Why,  did  you  ever !  "  she  said.  "  What  is  it  ? 
Ain't  it  pretty?" 

"  It's  a  cherry  pit,"  said  Tommy,  picking  it 
up  and  showing  it  to  his  mother,  "  and  just  the 
cutest  little  basket  I  ever  did  see.  You  put  it  in 
there,  Ainslee." 

"  No,  I  didn't,"  said  Ainslee,  seeming  very 
much  surprised.  "  How  do  you  s'pose  it  got 
there  ?     It  must  a-growed." 

"  Cherries  don't  grow  on  four-o'clocks,"  said 
Tommy.  "  Somebody  made  it,  an'  you  put  it  in 
somehow,  only  I'd  just  like  to  know  how." 

So,  after  a  little  while  lonjier  declariufj  that 
"  truly  surely  lie  hadn't  done  it,"    Ainslee  ex- 


400  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES.      , 

plained,  and  Tommy  and  Amanda  botli  decided  to 
play  the  same  trick  on  all  their  friends,  and  tried 
tying  np  the  flower  themselves,  till  they  had  tied 
it  all  to  bits. 

"  You're  goin'  to  stay  to  tea,  ain't  you  ? " 
asked  Mrs.  Martin,  as  they  all  started  for  the 
seesaw  again. 

"  Mamma  didn't  say  I  mustn't,"  said  Ainslee, 
"  but  she  don't  like  me  to  often,  'cause  I  come 
here  so  much,  she  says." 

"  You  don't  come  none  too  often,"  said  Mrs. 
Martin,  who  liked  Ainslee  very  much  indeed, 
though  she  said  he  was  a  "  master  hand  for  mis- 
chief." "  I've  got  the  last  o'  the  raspberries,  an' 
•there's  goin'  to  be  raspberry  short-cake  for  su])- 
per.     I  guess  you'll  stay  for  that." 

"  I  guess  so,  too,"  said  Ainslee,  who  knew  all 
about  Mrs.  Martin's  short-cakes,  and  went  out  to 
the  back  yai'd,  thinking,  as  he  went,  how  much 
better  times  he  had  here,  than  he  could  ever 
remember  in  New  York. 

"  What  makes  you  look  so  sober  ? "  said 
Amanda,  as  they  sat  down  on  the  log,  across 
which  the  board  had  balanced. 

"  Only  'cause  I  don't  want  to  go  back  to  New 
York,"  he  answered,  "  and  papa  says  we're  going 
in  October,  maybe." 

Amanda  began  to  cry  at  once,  and  even  Tom- 
my looked  very  sober. 


THE  END.  401 

"  It's  too  bad,"  he  said.  "  Somehow  I  never 
thought  you  was  going  away,  Ainslee.  I  wish 
you  wasn't." 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Ainslee,  softly  patting  Aman- 
da's hand.  "  Now  don't  cry  a  speck  more, 
Amanda,  an'  I'll  tell  you  what.  I'll  write  you 
letters,  real,  true  letters,  in  a  envelope,  an' 
everything,  an'  you  can  write  back,  you  know, 
an'  every  time  the  postman  rings  the  bell,  I'll 
run  down  to  see  if  there  isn't  a  letter  for  me. 
Won't  it  be  fun  ?  An'  maybe  —  perhaps  — 
you'll  come  to  see  me  some  time,  an'  go  to  the 
Museum,  an'  everything.  Oh  !  "  and  Ainslee, 
who  felt  much  better,  danced  around  Amanda, 
who  wiped  her  eyes,  and  thought  it  would  be 
very  nice  indeed,  but  was  sure  her  mother  never 
would  let  her. 

"  Mercy  on  us  !  "  said  Mrs.  Martin,  who  called 
them  to  supper  just  then,  and  whom  Amanda 
asked  at  once  if  she  might  go  to  New  York.  "  I 
should  think  you  was  crazy,  child.  It's  a  den  of 
ravening  wolves,  an'  'tain't  no  fit  place  for  folks 
to  live." 

"  My  father  ain't  a  ravelin'  wolf,  an'  he  used 
to  live  there,"  said  Ainslee,  quickly.  "  It's  a 
real  good  place  to  live  in,  if  you  haven't  got  any 
grandpa's,  that's  a  heap  nicer." 

"  Bless  the  child !  "  said  Mrs.  Martin.     "  Well, 

26 


402  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

I  Avill  say't  can't  be  a  very  bad  place  right 
round  where  your  pa  an'  ma  live,  for  they'd 
make  the  worst  kind  o'  place  a  pretty  tolable 
one  to  be  in.  Hold  your  plate,  Ainslee,  for  some 
short-cake." 

Ainslee  held  it  without  waiting  a  moment,  and 
then  held  it  again,  while  Mrs.  Martin  drowned  it 
in  cream,  and  then  all  at  once,  that  wonderful 
short-cake  was  gone,  down  to  the  very  last 
crumb,  and  Ainslee  drew  a  long  sigh,  and  sat 
back  in  his  chair. 

"  I  tell  you  one  thing,"  said  Mr.  Martin,  who 
had  been  watchino-  him  a  moment  or  two : 
"you'd  better  be  thankful,  you've  got  such  an 
appetite.  Now  here  I  am  with  the  dyspepsy, 
mornin',  noon,  an'  night,  an'  I've  got  to  pay  for 
eatin'  that  short-cake,  just  the  same  way  I  pay 
for  every  thin'  I  eat." 

Mr.  Martin  sighed  a  loncjer  si^h  than  Ainslee's, 
and  took  some  more  cold  pork  and  potatoes.  If 
Ainslee  had  been  a  little  older,  he  could  have 
told  Mr.  Martin  that  pork,  whether  cold  or  hot, 
never  cured  dyspepsia.  As  it  was,  with  a  vague 
idea  of  what  was  meant,  he  began  again  on 
"  hearts  and  rounds,"  till  he  had  eaten  all  he 
could,  and  then  went  out  to  the  yard  for  a  last 
play  before  going  home.  Papa  and  mamma 
came,  just  as  he  was  starting,  and  chatted  by  the 


THE  END.  403 

gate  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  all  three 
walked  slowly  home  together. 

Next  day  it  rained,  and  the  day  after,  too, 
and  Ainslee  did  whatever  came  up  as  best  to  do, 
and,  on  the  whole,  had  a  veiy  nice  time.  He 
held  all  mamma's  worsteds,  and  a  skein  of  yarn 
for  grandma  —  put  the  play-room  in  the  garret 
nicely  in  order,  and  amused  Bertie  many  an  hour 
in  the  two  days.  To  be  sure  he  did  tramp  up 
and  down  stairs,  and  slam  doors,  and  get  into 
people's  way,  more  or  less,  but  it  was  only  what 
a  healthy,  active  boy  could  hardly  help  doing, 
and  nobody  scolded  him. 

Saturday  morning  came,  clear  and  bright, 
and  Rover  whined  at  the  door  long  before 
anybody  was  up,  as  if  very  sure  Ainslee  would 
have  a  run  with  him  that  day.  He  was  not 
disappointed,  for  when  the  breakfast  bell  rang, 
Ainslee  came  in  through  the  dining-room  win- 
dow, with  the  reddest  of  red  cheeks,  and  the 
hair  nurse  had  brushed  so  nicely,  in  one  terrible 
frouze. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  ?  "  said  grandma. 

"  Only  running  all  round  everywhere,"  Ains- 
lee said.  "  An'  grandpa,  everything's  been  grow- 
ing hard  as  it  could  every  minute,  while  it  rained. 
You  ought  to  see  the  beets." 

"I  have,"  said  grandpa.     "I  was  in  the  gar- 


404  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

den  a  little  while  ago,  and  I  saw  a  young  man 
sitting  on  the  bank,  eating  blue  plums.  Who 
could  it  have  been  ?  " 

"  It  must  a-been  Jack,  I  guess,"  said  Ainslee, 
making  very  large  eyes  at  grandpa.  "  Anyway, 
I  couldn't  reach  but  three,  grandpa,  an'  there's 
heaps  on  the  tree." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  grandpa.  "  Then  you  know 
something  about  it.     What  in  the  world !  " 

Ainslee  looked  around,  and  so  did  all  the  rest, 
to  see  what  grandpa  could  be  looking  at,  that 
surprised  him  so  much.  Dr.  Sumner  stood  in 
the  back  yard,  talking  with  a  man,  and  at  the  gate 
was  a  great  wagon,  used  for  picnic  parties  in  sum- 
mer, and  sleighing  parties  in  winter,  and  which 
would  easily  hold  twenty  people. 

"  I  know !  I  know  !  "  screamed  Ainslee,  running 
out  to  the  yard.  "  You're  going  up  the  moun- 
tain. Dr.  Sumner;  I  know  you  are  !  " 

"  Nothing  is  certain  in  this  world,  but  that  we 
know  nothing,"  said  Dr.  Sumner,  looking  solemn- 
ly at  him,  and  walking  into  the  house.  "  Put 
your  breakfast  in  a  basket,  Mrs.  Walton,  and 
dinner,  too,  if  you  like,  and  wear  a  bonnet  that 
can  be  hung  up  or  laid  down,  without  a  howl 
over  the  trimmings.  Put  on  your  hat.  Barton, 
I'm  in  a  hurry." 

"  Eat  your  breakfast  like  a  reasonable  man," 


THE  END.  405 

said  grandpa,  bringing  a  chair,  "  and  then,  if  you 
please,  explain  your  intentions." 

"The  day  does  that  for  me,"  said  Dr.  Sum- 
ner, sitting  down,  and  chipping  an  egg.  "  See 
the  sun  on  that  mountain,  smell  the  air,  coming 
in  this  minute  at  that  window.  Could  any  man 
in  his  senses  stay  in  the  house  to-day  ?  No,  sir. 
Therefore  I  rode  over  this  morning  ;  left  Sally  in 
the  stable  ;  ordered  the  biggest  wagon  I  could 
find,  and  four  horses  to  match,  and  as  soon  as 
Mrs.  Walton  has  made  up  her  mind  what  cap  to 
wear,  we  are  going  up  the  mountain." 

"  I  can't.  I  never  climb,"  said  grandma. 
"  The  rest  of  you  can  go,  and  I'll  stay  at  home 
and  keep  house." 

"  Never,"  said  Dr.  Sumner.  "  The  horses 
can  climb,  if  you  can't.  I'll  take  a  side-saddle, 
and  you  shall  ride." 

"  And  break  my  neck,"  said  grandma,  indig- 
nantly. 

"  No,  ma'am,"  said  Dr.  Sumner.  "  I'll  lead 
the  horse  myself,  and  you  will  come  home  ten 
years  younger.  Your  son  John  told  me  to  bring 
you." 

"  My  son  John  is  a  goose,"  said  grandma, 
smiling  a  little,  but  looking  very  determined, 
while  Ainslee  shouted,  — 

"  Are  thev  iioino;  too  ?     Oh  !  oh  !  " 


406  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

"  You're  too  small  to  climb  a  mountain,"  said 
Dr.  Sumner,  turning  suddenly  to  him.  "  Too 
short,  too  fat.  You  can  ride  to*  the  foot,  though, 
and  take  a  nap  in  the  wagon,  while  we  go  up." 

"  Then  Jack  and  Lizzie  are  too  small,"  said 
Ainslee.  "  I  guess  I  can  climb  as  fast  as  they 
can.     I  Tcnoiv  I'm  going  up." 

"  Perhaps  you  are,"  said  the  Doctor.  "  Now, 
friends,  fast  as  you  can ;  we  want  a  long  day, 
and  w^e  have  five  miles  to  ride.  Leave  your 
hoop  at  home,  Mary.  No  sensible  woman  would 
wear  such  a  thing,  climbing  anywhere." 

"  Very  well,"  laughed  mamma,  and  within 
half  an  hour,  the  great  wagon  moved  oif,  with  the 
whole  family  in  it,  even  grandma,  who,  declaring 
to  the  very  last  minute  that  she  could  not  and 
would  not  go,  had  had  a  bonnet  from  somewhere 
jammed  upon  her  head,  and  been  led  out  by  Dr. 
Sumner,  just  as  if  she  were  longing  to  go. 

"  I  shall  take  my  death  cold,  coming  home," 
she  said  ;  "  no  shawl  or  anything,  and  people 
will  think  I'm  crazy,  wearing  this  bonnet. 
Where  did  you  get  it?  " 

"  Where  I  got  the  shawls,"  said  Dr.  Sumner, 
pointing  to  a  heap  in  the  end  of  the  wagon.  "  I 
emptied  the  cloak  closet,  and  this  bonnet  was  on 
the  floor  in  the  corner." 

"  I  put  it  there  to  give  away,"  said  grandma, 
"  and  then  foro-ot." 


THE  END.  407 

"  Here  is  something  better,"  said  mamma, 
handino;  orrandma's  brown  barege  sun -bonnet 
to  her.  "  Do  give  me  that  bonnet,  mother,  and 
we'll  drop  it  somewhere.  I  had  it  when  Ainslee 
was  a  baby,  and  who  Avould  think  now,  I  could 
ever  have  called  it  pretty  !  " 

"It  never  was,"  said  Dr.  Sumner,  settling  him- 
self comfortably.  "  It  never  could  have  been. 
There  is  no  such  thing  as  a  pretty  bonnet.  No 
woman  would  wear  it,  if  there  were.  I  remem- 
ber your  mother's  wedding  bonnet  distinctly, 
Mary.  It  was  a  blue  silk  coal-scuttle  ;  an  enor- 
mous one,  with  a  ribbon  tree  growing  out  of  the 
top." 

"  I've  seen  it,"  said  Ainslee.  "  It's  in  the 
garret." 

"  Ah !  "  said  Dr.  Sumner,  and  then  was  silent 
a  few  moments.  Ainslee  waited  to  hear  what 
would  come  next,  and  hearing  nothing,  turned 
his  attention  to  the  horses,  which  ti'otted  fast,  as 
if  going  were  a  pleasure.  It  seemed  but  a  very 
little  while,  when  Uncle  John's  house  came  in 
sight,  and  Jack  and  Lizzie  danced  out  to  the 
great  wagon,  followed  by  Aunt  Sarah  and  Uncle 
John,  and  —  somebody  behind,  whom  Ainslee 
was  so  astonished  to  see,  that  he  sat  with  his 
mouth  wide  open.  Grandma  screamed  a  little 
bit,  and  everybody  looked  just  as  surprised  as  our 


408  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

Ainslee,  when  Uncle  Ainslee  himself  jumped  in 
among  tliem,  and  hugged  grandma  and  mamma, 
and  shook  hands  with  everybody,  till  the  driver 
said  to  himself,  they  were  the  craziest  party  that 
ever  climbed  Ascutney. 

"  How  did  you  get  here,"  and  "  Where  have 
you  been,"  one  and  another  asked,  and  in  time 
Uncle  Ainslee  told  them  that  he  had  come  from 
the  North  in  the  night  train,  which  had  been  de- 
tained, so  that  he  did  not  get  into  town  till  nearly 
seven.  Dr.  Sumner  had  been  the  first  person  he 
met,  and  finding  what  the  plan  for  the  day  was, 
Uncle  Ainslee  had  taken  Sally,  and  ridden  back 
to  Uncle  John's,  charging  Dr.  Sumner  on  no 
account  to  leave  grandma  at  home. 

"  You'll  be  worn  out,  travelling  so,  and  then 
climbing  all  day,"  grandma  said. 

But  Uncle  Ainslee  declared  he  had  slept 
beautifully,  full  half  the  night,  and  that  nothing 
in  the  world  could  be  quite  so  delightful  as  going 
up  the  mountain  with  her.  Then  how  they  all 
talked,  till  the  foot  of  Ascutney  was  reached, 
and  grandma  once  more  declared,  that  nothing 
could  induce  hei'  to  ride  on  horseback.  Some- 
how or  other  though,  before  she  knew  it,  the 
horse  w^as  ready  :  Uncle  Ainslee's  strong  arms 
had  lifted  her  to  it,  grandpa  walked  by  her  side, 
and  she   found  herself  really  very  comfortable, 


THE  END.  409 

and  actually  going  up,  while  the  rest  of  the  party 
came  behind. 

Half-way  up  was  the  spring,  and,  hot  and  tired, 
they  sat  about  it  for  a  little  while,  drank  the 
cold,  clear  water,  and  rested.  Rover,  who  had 
shown  himself  when  they  got  to  Uncle  John's, 
when  of  course  it  was  too  late  to  send  him  home 
again,  whisked  about,  not  tired  one  bit,  but  find- 
ing so  many  squirrels  to  bark  at,  that  he  was  in  a 
fair  way  to  be  very  hoarse  when  night  came. 

Presently  the  ascent  began  again.  Ascutney 
is  by  no  means  a  hard  mountain  to  climb,  but  the 
children's*  small  legs  were  tired  enough,  when, 
coming  out  of  the  forest,  which  rises  almost  to 
the  very  top,  they  found  themselves  really  at  the 
journey's  end,  and  a  hundred  miles  of  country 
before  them. 

Beds  of  white  moss  were  under  their  feet, 
thick  and  soft,  like  great  cushions,  and  the  tired 
party  sat  down  here,  leaning  back  against  the 
rocks,  and  looking  off  to  the  winding  river  and 
fair  meadows ;  the  villages,  Avhere  the  white 
church  spires  of  the  nearest  could  just  be  seen  ; 
and  on  the  west  of  the  Connecticut,  green  hills 
piHng  up  to  meet  the  Green  Mountain  chain, 
covered  with  thick  forests. 

The  fresh  wind  blew  over  them,  spicy  with 
pine  and  hemlock,  cooling  the  hot  faces,  and  by 


410  THE  AINSLEE  STORIES. 

and  by,  -when  Ainslee  and  Jack  and  Lizzie  had 
looked  at  all  their  childish  eyes  could  take  in  of 
the  sweet  landscape  before  them,  they  wandered 
off,  picking  winter-green  leaves,  and  making  a 
collection  of  the  prettiest  pebbles  to  be  found. 
Uncle  Ainslee  followed  pi-esently,  and  showed 
them,  among  the  rocks  on  the  western  side,  a 
den,  where,  two  or  three  years  before,  a  very 
fierce  panther  had  been  killed,  the  skin  of  which, 
he  told  them,  Dr.  Sumner  had  in  a  carriage  robe. 

Mamma  called  while  he  was  talking,  and  all 
Avent  back  to  the  luncheon,  which  was  just 
double  what  they  wanted,  for  grandma  and 
Aunt  Sarah  both,  had  each  packed  a  great 
basketful.  How  hungry  they  were,  and  when 
everybody  had  had  enough,  and  the  things  were 
put  back  in  the  baskets,  Ainslee,  Avitli  liis  head 
in  mamma's  lap,  and  Lizzie  and  Jack  by  Aunt 
Sarah,  laid  down  on  the  moss  beds,  and  listened 
to  the  talk  which  went  on  for  a  little  while  before 
starting  down  the  mountain.  The  voices  grew 
indistinct;  then  far  off,  like  the  hum  of  bees, 
and  all  at  once  the  three  children  were  sound 
asleep,  in  the  broad  daylight  too,  with  the  sun 
shining  down,  and  little  Avhite  clouds  sailing  so 
close  about  their  heads,  that  a  hand  stretched  out 
would  have  touched  them,  it  seemed. 

Why  should  Ave  not  leave  the  people  there  ? 


THE  END.  411 

You  know  they  came  down  again,  and  that  Jack 
and  Lizzie  are  probably  playing  under  the  old 
trees  at  home,  and  this  very  day,  Ainslee  may 
have  walked  down  Broadway,  just  behind  you. 

So  we  come  to  the  last  chapter  of  all,  and  who 
knows  when  I  shall  tell  you  more  of  the  children, 
whom  I  hope  you  like  almost  as  well  as  some 
of  those  you  play  with.  Another  year,  perhaps 
—  perhaps  never,  but  however  this  may  be,  I 
shall  always  like  to  think  of  the  little  people  who 
have  read  the  stories,  and  to  hope,  that  if  not  as 
mischievous,  they  may  be  always  as  loving  and 
generous,  as  honest  and  as  true  as  my  Ainslee. 


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